


All That Is False and Specious (Life: Chapter 1)

by macpetreshock



Series: Life Is a Book [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Cute Sherlock, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Feels, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Love, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, No Angst, Original Character(s), POV Sherlock Holmes, Parentlock, Post-The Sign of Three, Pregnancy, Romance, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock-centric, Sweet Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 39,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macpetreshock/pseuds/macpetreshock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up at the tail end of "The Sign of Three," Sherlock's life takes an alternate path...</p>
<p>With John now married and a baby on the way, Sherlock finally realizes his best friend taught him more than he ever thought possible.</p>
<p>Mary's friend and neighbor, Victoria drew Sherlock back into the reception rather than letting him leave without even a single dance, and opened his eyes to an attraction he'd never quite felt before.</p>
<p>Can Sherlock truly grasp the concept of a life involving work, friendship, AND romance?</p>
<p>Perhaps more so than anyone thought possible...</p>
<p>(A/N: This is my first Sherlock fan fic. Sherlock x OC. Sherlock's POV, so far.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Invitation

**Chapter 1 – An Invitation**

 

They were right, just as I feared. Just as I knew and couldn’t bring myself to say aloud to anyone who told me, definitely not Mycroft. I most certainly did not wish to see more of him due to the irrefutable alteration of my status with John.

I did not wish to see less of John; however, given the general expectations within the institution of marriage and the impending arrival of a child, deducing the possibility of any result other than a growing distance seemed outright stupid of me and admittedly, childishly selfish wishful thinking.

“Leaving already?”

Caught unawares, I spun around to find someone most unexpected following behind me.

Victoria Taylor. Table three. Mary’s neighbor and friend of two years, seven months. American, specifically New York, Long Island, Queens. Third year Professor of Psychology at Regent’s College. Undergraduate degree from Harvard. Doctorate from Cambridge. Intelligent. Aged thirty-four. Ah, no. Make that thirty-five, birthday six days ago. Mary mentioned it. Unmarried. Non-smoker. Owns one cat, black. Comfortable wearing a dress yet not in those heels. Natural ginger. Sectoral heterochromia iridus. Left handed. Hm… No, no… Prefers left handedness. Naturally ambidextrous, quite uncommon. Interesting.

“I … I was just getting a bit of fresh air.”

She smiled and took a step back toward the reception hall. “Okay. Well, Mary said someone thought they saw you leave. I didn’t think the best man would disappear without even a single dance, but here you are, looking like some felon escaping a prison sentence.” Narrowing her eyes, she looked me over carefully as if deducing me, then smirked and laughed quietly. “You know, Mr. Holmes, being here alone is only as bad as you let it be.”

Alone. RSVP did not include a ‘plus one’ attending.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” Popping the ‘p’ at the end, Victoria shrugged her shoulders in a rather noncommittal gesture. “At least that’s what Mary said to me.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t see anyone else standing alone on the dance floor before I left the room.”

“That’s probably because I slipped off to the restroom, trying to figure out how to fix this ankle strap on my shoe. The damn buckle broke earlier, now I’m about to kick the stupid things off and just dance barefoot. Or at least I would, if I had anyone to dance with. … Which would be how I ended up out here chasing you down instead of inside dancing the night away.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she rubbed her hands furiously against her upper arms. “And I would be warmer. For being mid-May, you really would think it wouldn’t be so chilly outside. This weather is ridiculous.”

“It’s English,” I joked lightly, slipping out of my coat as I closed the distance between us, enveloping her in its warmth.

Pulling it tighter, she looked down to how long it was on her. “Good grief, you’re tall.”

I refrained from laughing at her completely obvious statement. “A few people have mentioned that a time or two before, I believe.” The smile she gave me was quite lovely, and I found myself smiling rather unreservedly in return. “Although, I believe if you were to toss your shoes aside and dance with me, you’d find I appear quite taller than I already do. Would that be a problem for you?”

“Is that an invitation to go back inside and dance?” Her eyes didn’t waver from mine.

Puzzles, psychopaths, serial killers, solving crimes, logical deductions are so simple. Human interactions, the potential for emotional entanglements are impossibly complicated, messy, and most definitely not my area of expertise, but if there was anything I had learned from my friendship with John, it was this:

Alone does not protect me. Alone is painful. Undeniably, horrendously painful.

My mouth gone suddenly dry, I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Um … yes. Shall I escort you back inside, Miss Taylor?”

She took my offered arm, and I pulled her closer to my side, aware her left shoe was loose and the terrain was uneven. Having deduced she ran to keep fit, any injury would not only prevent dancing, it would surely put her out of commission from her preferred method of exercise for approximately four weeks, and a sedentary life bored her.

“Please, call me Victoria.”

“Not Vicky? That is the most common shortened version of Victoria used socially, is it not?”

“Use it at your own peril, Mr. Holmes,” she replied sarcastically, smiling with false sweetness and batting her eyelashes, much to my amusement.

“Very well, Victoria. And please, do call me Sherlock. No nicknames for me either. Same terms apply.”

Opening the door, I allowed her entrance first then followed, lifting my coat from her shoulders and hanging it before holding out a hand, assisting her balance as she slipped off the troublesome heels. John had always attested I had no social graces, but I did. Choosing not to use them in favor of focusing on pursuits of logic and reason does not mean a lack of such things. My brother and I were raised to behave as proper gentlemen with all the skills necessary to treat a woman appropriately.

They were so pointless, useless, and absolutely inapplicable to my intended goals in life. At least they had been.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” With her shoes removed, Victoria still held my hand, and I made no effort to change that, instead, stepping nearer. “You were right.”

I smirked. “I generally am.”

She rolled her eyes but kept looking at me. “Uh huh. I gather you usually think that about yourself. But this time, you were. You do seem much taller this way.” The top of her fiery hair barely reached my shoulder as she stood barefoot in front of me. “Good thing I happen to like tall men.” Lifting a hand, she flicked her fingers through the hair on my forehead, surprising me in the action. “Tall men with seemingly untamable curls.”

“I… I…” I blinked several times, blanking on how to reply. “I like to dance. Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Sherlock fanfic, so I'd love to hear comments on the chapters to know what readers think of how it's going, what you do and don't like, and such. Thanks!


	2. On the Table

Chapter 2 – On the Table

 

Everything the DJ played was pop music of some variety or another, nothing with which I was particularly familiar, but fast or slow, with Victoria as my dance partner, the specifics mattered none to me. She was light on her feet, graceful with the rhythm of any music, happy to simply dance rather than forcing social conventions of polite conversation upon me.

I couldn’t stop smiling at her, and each time her eyes met mine, she returned one in kind, if she wasn’t already doing so. As I spun her around, I caught sight of John and Mary watching us, noticing they quickly waved rather excitedly, grinning widely while giving ‘thumbs up’ gestures, much to my absolute confusion.

“What?” I mouthed. John waggled his eyebrows and winked. The song changed, everything slowing down in the room, and a gentle flick of my wrist brought Victoria turning into my arms as I slid a hand to her waist, furrowing my brow and shaking my head at John, still unsure what he was getting on about.

“This is a great song,” Victoria commented in a sigh, bringing my attention fully to the woman in my arms, cheek against my chest, fingers casually winding through the hair at the back of my neck. And oddly, I didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable. Although I didn’t know how exactly it was that I did feel, it was not displeasing.

 “I’m not familiar with this particular song.”

She looked up at me, cheek still barely brushing the lapel of my jacket. Something in her nearness, or perhaps her expression, or another element I couldn’t put my finger on caused my heart rate to elevate in a peculiar manner. “Sherlock, is there any particular song that’s played so far that you can honestly tell me you’re familiar with?” I shook my head silently, and she grinned. “Didn’t think so. Maybe I can teach you a few things since you are apparently not the encyclopedic fountain of all knowledge you let on to be.”

My face felt warm, and I was quite sure I was blushing of all things. “I’ve never claimed to know all things, but I do know a great many.” Her eyes remained locked on mine, leaving me wanting to unlock every unanswered question I had about her. “I know you look quite lovely tonight.”

“Thank you. Mary said the bridesmaids were wearing purple—”

“Lilac,” I corrected.

Victoria grinned. “Lilac. So, I thought something in the realm of purple seemed appropriate but wanted to go darker to keep away from getting too overly coordinated with the wedding party.”

“Well, sangria is a color most complementary to you, Victoria.”

“Sangria? Now the Consulting Detective is a color expert too?

Smiling widely, I realized this socially required so-called ‘small talk’ was not at all painful when engaged in with someone of suitably enjoyable companionship. “Indeed. I assisted Mary in a great deal of the wedding planning, including the color scheme. John placed a great deal of importance on this event, and I felt it my place to ensure nothing went amiss.”

“I’m not sure if that makes you the best best friend ever or the biggest control freak best friend ever, but either way, I think the thought behind it was really sweet.” Her expression turned rather serious, causing a sudden bout of nervousness on my part. “You look quite dashing tonight yourself, Sherlock.”

Blinking several times as my heart rate elevated again, I struggled to form a suitable response. “Do you truly think that, or does social convention merely dictate it appropriate to return a compliment with an equivalent compliment?”

Her gaze dropped to my lips before traveling back to meet my eyes. “Yes, I definitely think that, and I would if you were dressed in ratty sweats and an old t-shirt instead of all decked out for a wedding. I’m not one for throwing around compliments haphazardly or encouraging the advances of men I don’t genuinely have an interest in.”

Bloody hell. My mouth was dry. My palms were sweaty. My pulse was out of control. Where was John? I needed assistance, help, maybe a doctor. “You … You have an interest in me?” My voice cracked a bit, and the question came out lower than I intended.

“Yes. No pressure. No expectations. Just putting it out on the table in case you were wondering and wanted confirmation or anything,” she replied casually and placed her cheek against my chest once more as the song came to an end.

Smiling, I wrapped my arm more tightly around her waist and felt her fingernails graze the nape of my neck. “I believe that is quite a great song. What was it?”

“”All of My Life” by We Shot the Moon.”

“Hm,” was my only response as I leaned in to rest my cheek on her head, inhaling the scent of her lavender shampoo, and I held Victoria in my arms as though we were still slow dancing, though neither of us moved and the others on the dance floor carried on around us in an upbeat and rather intoxicated merriment.

I closed my eyes, allowing Victoria to be my own personal intoxication, and was enough in the moment.


	3. The Emergency

Chapter 3 – The Emergency

 

I sat staring at the offending piece of furniture, all-too silent and undisturbed. Empty.

Four days into John’s marriage felt like a lifetime for me, his absence while on holiday with Mary absolutely unbearable. Honeymoon. Honeymoon? What kind of ridiculous name is that for a holiday? Anyone with an ounce of common sense knew they’d gone off on a post-wedding holiday to have copious amounts of sex. It’s a Sex Holiday quite obviously. They didn’t need to spend money on traveling to do that. They already lived together and clearly did enough of that to result in Mary becoming pregnant.

Mrs. Hudson entered the flat without knocking, per usual, carrying a tray. “Sherlock, dear, I thought you might care for some tea and a bit of company.”

“Tea, yes. Company, no,” I lied.

It didn’t stop her. She set the tray down beside John’s chair, handed me a cup, and went on talking. “Oh, Sherlock, he’ll be back to visit. I’m sure of it. Don’t you worry.” Then she proceeded to sit in _his_ chair.

“Do not sit there.” She looked confused and didn’t move. I stood, taking my tea and ushering her by the elbow out of the chair and over to the sofa. “There. You may sit there.” I plopped down beside her with enough grace not to spill my tea yet with enough irritation to express my displeasure with the proffered company unrelentingly forced upon me.

“Why haven’t I seen that nice young lady from the wedding ‘round here?” I stared blankly at Mrs. Hudson as she spoke. “Honestly, she seemed quite taken with you… and you with her. I can’t imagine why you don’t just let things happen naturally, dear. I know you’re a smart boy, but there really isn’t such a thing as too smart for love, Sherlock.”

My mouth fell open as I continued to stare and process her words before jumping up, grabbing her arms, and pulling her toward the door. “You haven’t seen her because I’m an idiot, and you are a wise, wise lovely woman, Mrs. Hudson. Now go away.”

I shut the door behind her and pulled my phone from my pocket, finding Victoria’s number in my contacts, the number I hadn’t used since she gave it to me after the reception. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late.

_Dinner tonight? –SH_

Then I waited. And waited. And waited. And maybe shot a few holes in the wall during the eternity it took for her to respond.

Three minutes later. She replied.

_Hello to you too stranger. Sure. What time? –VT_

_Pick you up at 6? –SH_

_Works for me. Casual, dressy, or in between? –VT_

_In between. –SH_

_Great. See you at 6. –VT_

With a simple six texts, I had scheduled my first real date and possibly began suffering a panic attack, realizing what I’d done. Only one solution came to mind.

_Need help. Emergency. –SH_

Almost instantly, my phone buzzed with an incoming text.

_I’M ON MY HONEYMOON! CALL LESTRADE! –JW_

Lestrade? What does he know about women and dating? Well, I suppose he is married, though not terribly successfully, but given that’s more than I’d yet accomplished in that particular area of my life, I didn’t see much harm in giving it a go.

_Need immediate assistance. –SH_

_Urgent. –SH_

_Come now. –SH_

I impatiently waited for a text from the Detective Inspector for nearly two whole minutes. Quite frustrating.

_Do I need backup? Bomb squad? Ambulance? –GL_

_No. –SH_

_Just you. –SH_

_Now. –SH_

_I’m waiting. –SH_

_I do not like waiting, Lestrade. This is most urgent. –SH_

The newspapers were full of boring nothingness, and the same could be said for the telly. Every request for me to take new cases were boooring. Unbelievable. I had not a single thing to occupy myself. Dreadfully dull. My violin sat untouched since John’s wedding. I didn’t know why, but I hadn’t felt the mood to play.

Glancing at my watch, I took a deep breath and held it. Four hours and seven minutes until date night. Where the bloody hell was Lestrade?

Clothes. Clothing. Something to wear. I stalked to my room and flung open the wardrobe, examining its contents with no earthly clue what to wear on a first date. Shirt, pants, shoes. Yes, of course. Which shirt?

White? Too bland. Grey? Boring. Black? Depressing. I pulled out four potential options and laid them on the bed, carefully weighing their pros and cons.

“Sherlock? Where are you? What’s wrong?” Lestrade yelled, throwing the flat’s door open unceremoniously.

“In here. I’ve gotten myself in quite a fix,” I began explaining as he entered, eyes searching the room, confusion written across his features.

“What’s so urgent now?” His tone was laced with frustration. He clearly did not understand the monumental problem I faced.

“I have a date.”

He stopped moving, standing stock still, then cocked his head and stared at me, mouth agape. “Wha… You… How is that even…” Grabbing the sides of his face, he shook his head. “What do you mean you have a date? How do you have a date? I’m trying to comprehend, but I just can’t.”

“I asked a woman out to dinner for tonight, and she quite willingly agreed to accompany me in the customary way two romantically unattached people engage in a mutually acceptable activity with the intention of using the appropriated time in order to further assess levels of attraction, suitability, and potential relationship sustainability between them,” I clarified. “I don’t understand your confusion regarding my problematic situation.”

Dropping his hands to his sides, Lestrade sighed loudly. “Why am I here, Sherlock? What do you need me for?”

“Because although I know the purpose of a date, I’ve never had one before, and John’s not here.” Why do people always ask questions with such obvious answers? “John said to call you. You’re married. Don’t you know how these things work?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Giving a look over the shirts on my bed, he gestured to the one on the far end. “Wear the purple one. She’ll like it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because I’ve overheard some of the girls at the office commenting when you’ve been in wearing it, and they seem to like it. They’ve even got a nickname for it.” He snickered at me.

“A nickname?”

“Oh yeah. ‘The purple shirt of sex’ they call it. Gets the girls a bit worked up whenever you come in wearing it. Can’t say why. I don’t understand women, but they like it.”

Sex wasn’t my intended outcome of the evening, but as physical attraction was one aspect of dating relationships, Lestrade’s advice seemed reasonable enough, so I returned the other shirts to the wardrobe, and opted to stay with his recommendation.

“Now, location,” I began, leading him into the living area and taking a seat at my laptop, typing in search parameters. “I suggested nothing too casual or too posh, something in between. Where would you say is a fitting dining establishment for such an evening?”

Lestrade took a seat on the sofa. “Sherlock, you’re thinking too hard. This isn’t a case to solve. It’s a date, and seeing how it’s your _first_ date, with this girl and _ever_ , I’d recommend you take her somewhere you’re comfortable to keep your nerves down. You’re making me a nervous wreck, and I’m not even going on this date.” He gestured to my hands, which were slightly shaking as I held them hovering over the keyboard. I put them in my lap and made a conscious effort to stop chewing my bottom lip as I noticed I was also anxiously doing.

If I was going to deduce anything about Victoria during the dinner date, I needed to get my own behavior under control. Lestrade was right. Somewhere I felt comfortable would be just the thing.

I half-smiled at the Detective Inspector who appeared a tad concerned at my sudden calm. “I know exactly where to take her.”

His expression grew serious. “Sherlock, the mortuary is not an appropriate place for a dinner date, no matter how comfortable you are there.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Yeah.” He stood and headed to the door. “Well, I think I’ve done all I can. Let me know how it goes. You on a date is like watching a train wreck about to happen. I have a morbid curiosity and just have to know how it ends.”

That comment seemed rudely unnecessary. I can’t possibly be _that_ bad.


	4. The Word

Chapter 4 – The Word

 

Deep breath. Deep breath. I could do this, this dating thing. It couldn’t be that difficult. Plenty of men had done it before me and survived.

“You alright, mate? This is the address, yeah?” the cabbie asked.

“Yes.”

“Big date?”

Yes,” I answered with far more emphasis and a hint of the anxiety I’d been working to tame. A glance at my watch didn’t help. 5:54. Time to make a good impression, the best impression possible.

I climbed out, straightening my jacket, feeling somewhat disarmed without my coat, bare and vulnerable. But this was a date, not a case, as Lestrade so helpfully pointed out, and I felt it best to impose a relative differentiation of my own. Being May 22nd, leaving my coat and scarf behind seemed seasonally appropriate as well. In a way, I wish I hadn’t. They felt safe.

“Wait here. We’ll be out shortly.”

Onward into battle. … No. I shouldn’t think that way. The whole point was to stop thinking that way, stop trying to be that way.

Victoria answered the door of her second-floor flat on the first knock, opening to reveal how stunning she appeared, though dressed simply in a sleeveless, silky cream top with a flowy neckline complimenting her body, wide black ribbon cinching her narrow waist, the soft fabric flaring gently to her hips, meeting the fitted black pants she wore. Minimal makeup and jewelry, nothing flashy, hair down and natural, nails in a neat French manicure freshly done, she indicated no outward appearance of unusual effort put forth in her preparations for our date, and I had no idea how to interpret that.

Loss of initial interest expressed?

“Come on in. I just need to get my shoes and purse then I’m ready to go.” Her tone was calm, casual, yet entirely welcoming.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, and pulled out the bouquet of flowers I’d been holding behind my back. “These are for you.”

“Oh, Sherlock, they’re beautiful! Thank you.” Her smile and surprise seemed genuine, pleasing me that I had properly accomplished Step 1: Flower delivery. “I should put these in water.” She headed down the short hall and disappeared into a room to the right. “Are you familiar with floral symbolism, the various meanings behind giving different flowers?”

Following, I stood in the doorway of her kitchen, watching as she found a vase. “Actually, yes.” Victoria paused as she was arranging the bouquet but didn’t look at me. “I read up on the topic this afternoon before choosing those.”

“Oh. So you know lavender roses mean—”

“They express enchantment, adoration, fascination, and some even say ‘love at first sight’… Yes. And violet tulips convey faithfulness,” I added quietly. “I’m well aware the message within them. I am not experienced in love or romance, know nothing in regards to how best to go about this, Victoria, but I do know I felt quite ‘enchanted,’ as one might say, from the evening we met.” She finally turned to me, her eyes meeting mine, and I daringly stepped further into the kitchen. “And if I’m going to do this, take the effort of dating seriously then I wish to do so with one person and see it through to whatever conclusion it may have, as I do not believe I have the capacity for, nor the interest in juggling multiple dating partners simultaneously. Therefore, conveying faithfulness seemed apropos of my intent. During the agreed upon duration of our relationship, I offer it to you and ask it of you in return.”

Coming nearer, she grinned, an expression of what appeared to be awe on her face. “Sherlock, that… that was probably the sweetest and most romantic thing any man has ever said to me before. For being new at this, you’re not doing too bad.” As she lightly grazed her fingers along my cheek, the same elevated heart rate from Saturday night plagued me. “Yes.”

Yes. Yes! Yes? Yes to what? I couldn’t ask before Victoria’s lips gently brushed the corner of my mouth, pressing into my cheek softly, and I froze. If I’d just slightly turned my head, my lips would have met hers full on. Should I have? Did I do that wrong? Was it a missed opportunity given? Would she be disappointed in my lack of action? Had I failed on the first date in less than ten minutes?

“Don’t be so tense,” she whispered. “You did great.”

Relaxing at her words, I smiled down at her as she dropped flat on her feet again, and I stood towering over her. Victoria was certainly petite in comparison to myself, but in no way was she misleadingly weak, not in appearance, personality or intelligence, intriguingly attractive as my first romantic interest.

“Yes to what?”

She laughed and shook her head. “To dating you, exclusively.” Internally, I sighed in relief, successful in Step 2: Secure relationship status. “I haven’t actually dated anyone since I’ve moved to London, so why not? I’m not big on playing games while dating anyway, so that works fine for me. You mind finishing with the flowers while I grab my shoes then we can get going?”

“For my girlfriend?” I carefully tested the word in such an unfamiliar usage. “Of course I don’t mind.”

Once she left the kitchen, I made quick work of arranging the roses and tulips in the vase, carrying them into the living area across the hall, nearly tripping over a streak of black bolting through the room. “For the love of… What the…” I muttered and set the vase in the center of her coffee table.

“Loki startle you?” Victoria questioned from behind me. “He’s a mischievous feline like that, hence the name. Give him time, and he’ll warm up to you. You do like cats, don’t you? We could have a real problem, a very quickly failed relationship if you don’t.”

“Yes, actually, I do. They are quite discerning creatures with high intelligence and keen senses. To be fair though, I’d already deduced you owned a cat by the black hair on your dress at the wedding, so if this were a problem, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, well, love the cat, love the cat hair,” she shrugged, resigned to the indisputable fact of cat ownership. “I’m ready if you are.”

“Our carriage awaits, milady.” Offering my arm, she took it with a laugh, and we were off on what I hoped would be a successful first date.


	5. Moral of the Story

Chapter 5 – Moral of the Story

 

As the cab pulled up in front of Tierra Brindisa, Victoria hopped right out and began looking around whilst I paid the fare then quickly followed to stand beside her, placing my hand at the small of her back, an action I’d noted to be the norm with couples.

“This place looks cozy,” she remarked as we walked toward the entrance.

Cozy? Was that good? Bad? I’d followed Lestrade’s advice and chosen a dining establishment in which I would be comfortable.

I knew I needed John. Lestrade was an idiot.

“I thought you might pick somewhere busy, too loud to actually carry on a conversation.” With a smile, she looked up at me when I held the door open. “I was afraid you might find a way to avoid actually talking. Seems I was wrong. This is perfect.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I stepped in behind her and nodded toward Angelo. “Ah, Sherlock, so good to see you, my friend. I have your table prepared, just as you requested.”

He waved us over to the front window table, a small trio of candles already lit in the center, dim overhead lights hanging low just as I recalled from the night I’d sat at the same table with John, the night our friendship began and we became flatmates, though I didn’t know he would become my friend at the time.

That seemed a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was. I wasn’t the same _me_ then. John changed me, changed me for the better.

“Sherlock?” Angelo looked at me as if I missed something.

“Hm?”

“I asked if I could get you something to drink to start. You were off in space somewhere, mate.”

Shaking my head a bit, I tried to keep my mind off John and focused on my date. “What are you having, Victoria?”

“A glass of Merlot. I’m a fan of wine with dinner and in the evening, hard liquor on weekends.”

She winked at me, and I temporarily could not recall how my mouth or my lungs functioned, I simply blinked like a bloody idiot.

“Um… Actually, Angelo, make that a bottle of Merlot, best in the house. We’ll both be imbibing tonight.” My eyes never left Victoria’s, and I didn’t fully hear his response before leaving us alone, something regarding our need for time to browse the menu.

“I take it you’ve been here a time or two.”

Our gaze remained locked, yet I could see her smile simply in the brightness of her eyes and the fine lines appearing at their corners. “A few times, perhaps.” I mirrored her amusement. “He was quite willing to assist me in arranging a ‘cozy’ place to dine, as you deem this to be.”

“Well, it’s perfect. And dressing up a bit despite it being a pretty casual place was a great idea, makes quite an impression for a first date. Too many men would overdo a first date, go flashy, flamboyant, try to show off and impress, but this is better. Taking a small, low-key restaurant, adding a few candles to the table, wearing nicer clothes than you might normally to come here, and all, it makes it special without being ridiculous or seeming like you tried too hard.” She laughed and glanced down to the table. “But the look on your face says it took you all afternoon to do this. Am I right?”

Sitting up extraordinarily straight, I focused intently on the menu, nervously tapping my fingers across the words I wasn’t reading truthfully. “I don’t know what…” I shook my head, sighing. “I don’t know why I can’t lie to you.” Possibly because John’s voice was screaming in my head, telling me not to be stupid, not to bugger this up.

She reached across the table, placing one hand over mine, and I my eyes became transfixed there, memorizing every detail of her hand, every line, every freckle, a small faded scar.

“Sherlock, if I’m your girlfriend now, your first girlfriend from what I’m understanding, then let’s not focus on the why and just focus on the fact that you can’t, and you shouldn’t anyway, so just don’t bother trying to figure out how, and let’s move on.” I raised my eyes to find her smiling gently at me. “Yeah?” I nodded. “So what do you recommend to eat here?”

We didn’t speak of anything significant until after Angelo brought our wine and took our orders, giving me time to gather my thoughts again. Step 3: Set romantic dining ambiance. I’d had much of that taken care of ahead of time by calling Angelo, but had one more plan on my part, and pulled out my phone, holding back my grin at how well I’d planned the evening, despite Victoria’s unparalleled ability to deduce my reasons and intents behind everything. Although, given she was highly educated in psychology and experienced at dating, I had to admit she held an unfair advantage.

Opening the music app, I found the playlist I’d created, set the volume, laid my phone to the side of the candles, and pressed play, quite proud of the relative smooth execution of my first date thus far.

“Mood music?” she questioned rather quickly into the first song.

“I thought it would be nice, perhaps an icebreaker. We did spend the first evening we met dancing to music, so I thought…” Bowing her head slightly, she covered her mouth with her hand, but I could still see the grin on her face. “What? I don’t see what’s funny. I found this song to be quite elegantly dramatic. It seemed suitable.”

Her shoulders were visibly shaking with the laughter she held back. “Why this?” she squeaked, a giggle escaping.

“Because I play the violin, so I did a search for more contemporary instrumental pieces featuring it significantly in order to combine your previously mentioned interest in music with my particular musical talent to create both ambiance and a conversation starter, though this is not quite the conversation I had in mind. I hear nothing wrong with this composition and have no idea why you find it so entirely amusing.”

She let her giggles out for a few moments while I sat glaring. Step 3 was not going so well after all.

“Sherlock, I agree “Lux Aeterna” is a beautiful piece. It’s also rather morbid and not exactly romantic mood music since it was composed for the film _Requiem for a Dream_ , which is all about addictions and delusions and is basically more psychologically disturbing than a person who runs around misinforming people that he’s a sociopath,” she stated as bluntly as a slap in the face.

“Who told you that?” I snapped, stopping the music. This was not the way I had planned for things to go.

Step 3: Failed.

“People saw us together at the reception. I’d say you know how that is, but I’m not sure you do. Comments were randomly made to me about you, some as friendly warnings, some in hopeful wishes to see more come of our seeming interest in each other. You can imagine I heard a lot of things, good and bad.” Her expression was unreadable, not happy, not sad, not angry. It was merely as silent as she was in that moment. “Then I had a very strange visitor while I was at my office yesterday.” I stiffened, every muscle rigid, not even daring to breathe, knowing what was coming. “Not sure I see any family resemblance. You definitely inherited all the good looks. But Mycroft is certainly an _interesting_ character. I’ll give him that much.”

My brother. Was there any area of my life in which he did not feel it necessary to interfere?

“And what did he want?” I ground out between clenched teeth.

“You know, have tea, chat a while, tell me childhood tales of the rambunctious Holmes boys, and show me embarrassing baby photos.” I stared in absolute shock. “I’m kidding. Much like the World’s Only Consulting Detective, he was ambiguous about the reason for his visit. Mostly, I think he was playing at a lot of cloak and daggers veiled threats while trying to assess if I’m romantically involved with you, or at least if I was at the time he visited… Or probably if I was open to the idea. Moral of the story, Sherlock: I’m ninety-nine percent sure your over-protective big brother came by to tell me not to break your heart.”

I drank my entire glass of wine, refilled it, and drank half the glass again.

“Oh.”


	6. Mr Darcy

Chapter 6 – Mr Darcy

 

“You have an over-protective older brother as well,” I stated, recovering a conversational mood shortly after our food arrived.

Step 4: Deduce and collect additional information.

“Close but not exactly. A cousin almost four years older who lived with us,” she began explaining, seeming at ease discussing the topic with me. “My aunt was a crack addict with no idea who Aaron’s father was, so my parents took him in and raised him. Early on, she played a bit of tug-of-war over him, sometimes coming and taking him, saying she was clean, but my parents took her to court and got custody when he was seven, and I don’t really remember the times when my aunt had Aaron. I just know that after she lost custody, she disappeared, and no one in the family has any idea where she went or even if she’s still alive.” Victoria spoke the last part far quieter and took a drink before saying anything more. “Aaron isn’t my biological brother, but we’re more like siblings than cousins. I’ve always thought of him as my brother though, and you’ve definitely got the over-protective part right.”

“Good to know I haven’t completely lost my ability to think around you.” I felt my face grow hot, my pulse racing, and was terribly embarrassed to have said such a thing. I didn’t even know where it came from and could only stare at my plate, unable to face her. “Forgive me. I’m behaving rather silly.”

“Adorable, not silly.” If my face were any hotter, surely I would suffer spontaneous human combustion. At the very least, it would be quite a fascinating way to die. “Sherlock, do you even realize how much more you are than just a brilliant mind? You’re definitely not a sociopath, whether you want to hide behind that pretense or not.” Raising my head to meet her beautiful golden brown eyes, flecks of green shining in the low light, she captivated every measure of my attention. “I can see what a loyal friend you are to John, how much you adore and respect him. And you’re charming, a wonderful dancer, a gentleman, thoughtful and romantic when you want to be.”

Her smile widened, tongue running along her lower lip, and my breath caught. “You’re also ridiculously handsome. I mean, not that I base relationships solely on physical attraction or anything, but at least in that aspect, you’ve got all the boxes checked on my list: hair, eyes, lips, basically your entire face, height, build. When we were dancing, I could feel how you were just the right mix of strength and elegance, not too muscular, not too skinny. There’s a quality of poise and confidence in the way you carry yourself when you walk or dance or anything that has quintessential elements of the regency era, making you seem as if you stepped right out of a Jane Austen novel, a living, breathing Mr. Darcy.”

I sat silent for what may have been exceedingly long, but Victoria was quite patient with me and seemingly understanding of my inexperience with relationships. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

It wasn’t that a woman had never shown signs of attraction toward me before, given I was well aware of Molly’s longstanding interest, quite obvious given her current fiancé bore the most uncanny resemblance to me. As well, it was no great secret Irene Adler held a certain sentiment for me that I never quite understood, a matter that held my interest and fascination for some time due to its puzzling nature.

Yet no one prior to Victoria expressed themselves so clearly, explained some reasoning behind such thoughts and feelings, what factors equated to an intelligent and beautiful woman having dinner with me, wanting to be with me for any prolonged period of time, and quite eagerly agreeing to being my partner in this adventure into the unknown territory of romantic relationships.

“I’ve never read Jane Austen, but now I suppose I should, if only to examine this Mr. Darcy for myself.”

Pushing her empty plate away, Victoria crossed her arms in front of her, tilting her chin up slightly, a tiny twitch playing at the corner of her mouth. “’Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting.’” Her impression of a British accent left much to be desired, but her smirk and playful wink were delightful nonetheless. “I was never a huge fan of romance novels, but Jane Austen, oh, she was a whole other story. _Pride and Prejudice_ is a longtime favorite of mine, so I know a few quotes, and that particular one about Darcy always stuck with me. He could be an unbearable ass, yet there was a certain magnetism about his character, and in the end, well, I won’t spoil it for you.”

“No, please don’t. I’ll buy it first chance I get and read it then we can share our thoughts on it.”

“Alright. It’s a date then.”

Finishing the last of my wine, I studied her carefully, her eyes, her smile, how completely at ease she was with me, lowering my guard, drawing me out with every passing minute spent together. “Indeed. … Do you fancy pudding tonight?” She shook her head, and I gestured to Angelo for the bill.

After paying and thanking Angelo for his assistance, I stood out front on the pavement with Victoria, waiting for a cab, and I slid my fingers down her arm, taking her hand in mine. It seemed the natural thing to do, and I quite liked the oddly warm tingling sensation the small skin-to-skin contact elicited.

“Sherlock, why don’t we walk a bit?” she asked, turning to face me, placing her free hand on my chest, stepping so close, her body brushed against mine, and I made a low, indecipherable noise in reaction, staring down at her, rooted in place. Her lips were so full and pink, and I knew they were soft. They had felt soft on my cheek in her flat when she’d kissed me. “Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

I remained focused on her lips.

My inexperience was painfully true. Calling me ‘The Virgin’ was akin to how we call the Atlantic Ocean ‘the pond’. It works as a reference, but mentally minimizes the proportional significance.

Victoria’s hand no longer rested on my chest, her fingers clenched my lapel, and I met her eyes. “Sherlock?”

Her voice was low and breathy before I dropped my gaze to her lips once again, slipping a hand behind her neck, pulling her closer as I leaned in, no longer wanting to wonder what it would be like to kiss a woman, but _needing_ to know. Closing my eyes, I pressed my lips to Victoria’s, reveling in the soft warmth, the small thrill in that brief intimate connection. Though it only lasted a few seconds, I leaned back and took a deep breath, a broad smile on my face, unable to take my eyes off Victoria.

“Yes. Let’s walk a while.” I turned, holding her hand, strolling in the direction of Victoria’s flat.

I wasn’t quite ready for our date to be over anytime soon, yet at the same time, I couldn’t wait to get home and tell John everything.

My smile faltered.

John no longer lived there, I reminded myself. I’d have to text to share my good news.

Of course, John was the catalyst for everything truly good that happened in my life, and I knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is actually reading this, I'd love some feedback reviews/comments to let me know what you think. This is my first ever Sherlock fanfic, so I'm curious what people think. Thanks!


	7. No Apologies

Chapter 7 – No Apologies

 

For a long while, he remained turned away from me, ballpoint pen tapping against the patient file on the desk. Clearly, he was agitated, shoulders tensed, jaw tightened. He released a long sigh before straightening the stethoscope around his neck and spinning in the chair to face me again, head cocked, brows arched, crossing his legs and holding the file in his lap, continuing to tap the pen.

“So, what you’re saying is, you have a … No. You can’t. What the fuck, Sherlock? How do you even …” John paused, scowling at me, and I glance around the exam room. I thought he’d be quite happy to see me, glad I didn’t wait any longer to share this with him. “I’m gone for a week, and you get a girlfriend without me! How does that even happen?”

“I texted you.”

“You said it was an emergency, not a girlfriend,” he yelled, tossing the pen in my face quite forcefully.

“That was the emergency.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock.” John whacked me atop the head with the file folder. “You should know better than that. … What am I thinking? Of course you don’t know better. … How in the bloody hell did you get a girlfriend?”

Honestly, his reaction was rather unexpected, and I stood, gathering my coat from the exam table, preparing to leave. “I see, John. I’m human enough to be your best friend, but not human enough to learn from being such, to perhaps be more ….”

I spun on my heel and quickly strode to the door, throwing it open so hard it hit the wall, bouncing back, and I had to catch it from closing once again, but he stopped me short of walking out with two questioning words.

“More what?”

Without turning to him, I answered. “More like you, John.” I pulled the door closed as I stepped into the hallway, not saying another word, and hearing no further response.

“Do you need a follow-up appointment, sir?” asked the receptionist as I went to leave.

“No, Dr. Watson miraculously cured my affliction. I won’t be returning.”

Dreary, the Monday morning weather was typical for London, and I flipped the collar up on my coat, standing on the edge of the street, watching for a taxi to hail.

“So you’re just gonna leave like that, you arsehole?” John grabbed my arm, pulling me back toward the wall of the building, which I reluctantly allowed. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to apologize if you just take off like that?”

“I didn’t ask for an apology. I don’t need one.” I shrugged his hand off but made no move to leave. “Go back to your patients, Dr. Watson. There are people in need of you.”

He shifted on his feet and stared at the wall, refusing to look at me. “Yeah, well … I have something important to take care of, had to run out for ‘bout an hour or so.”

For a moment, I waited, watching John, wanting to tell him everything, empty every thought and feeling running through my head regarding Victoria out at his feet, pleading for his advice, but he stood there, still staring at the wall. He wore sadness and anger in his eyes, though I didn’t understand what exactly I’d done.

“Then I’ll leave you be, John. You’re a busy man,” I stated quietly, and headed to hail a cab.

“Not too busy for my best friend, Sherlock. The café across the street has good coffee, if you have time.”

The silence remained rather awkward and prolonged whilst we sat inside the café at a table by the window, trying not to look at one another as we struggled with all the things we wished to say. Much had changed in the last week, more than we’d ever expected would between us.

“This is my fault, Sherlock,” John began, and I quickly looked up, studying his face, unsure how he was guilty of anything. “Before you say a word, let me finish. However insane anyone else thought I was, or still thinks I am, I readily accepted your eccentricities, and relatively quickly considered you my friend, my best friend. I could overlook all the things about you that no one else could, could see the heart I believed was there when you didn’t believe it yourself. I saw you go from a friendless freak to my best friend. I saw you come back from the dead. I could believe you capable of those things without question, and yet in this, I doubt you. I laugh at you. For that …” He tapped his fingers on the table and finally made eye contact. “For that, I am indeed sorry, Sherlock. I’m not being a very good friend, am I?”

“Although I’m not exactly an expert on the matter, I don’t think you are.” He tossed a sugar packet at me, and we both laughed. When silence fell again, I smiled at him. “I forgive you, John. I’ll always forgive you.”

“Tone down the sentimentality a bit. I’m still getting used to it on you,” he chided, shaking his head, and I felt my face warm slightly. He was right though. It was odd for me too, allowing myself to have feelings and express them. “So, this girlfriend of yours… Wouldn’t happen to be Mary’s friend you met at the wedding, maybe?”

“Excellent deduction. Perhaps you should be a detective, Dr. Watson. We’ve had three point five dates so far, and I’d estimate our relationship to be quite fantastic actually.”

“Wait. You’ve been on three and a half dates while I’ve been gone? And how the hell do you go on half a date?”

I smirked. “We agreed to qualify the reception of your wedding as a half date between us as it was that we spent the entirety of the dancing portion of it with one another and have since determined our relationship status as exclusive and felt the time belonged within the collective of our outings labeled as ‘dates’ given that I had every intention of leaving that night had it not been for Victoria’s intervention and ultimately, my romantic interest in her, that led me to return. For that, I must apologize. She’s pointed out how horrible of me it was to walk out the way I did, but…” Pausing, I took another sip of my coffee. “At the time, that was the only thing I could think to do.”

“Yeah, yeah, all’s forgiven and yeah… Back to the dates.” John sipped his coffee, nodding and gesturing with his finger, as if turning pages in a book. “Don’t skip the good parts.”

“Wednesday evening was our first official date. I took her out to dinner. Everything went fairly well. I kissed her outside the restaurant after dinner, walked her home, and decided to make plans for Saturday night. Thanks to a connection of mine, I scored us fantastic tickets to the show at the Donmar since Victoria’s quite a fan of theater, and that went smoothly. Again, we kissed. She invited me in for a bit. I didn’t stay too long. Then yesterday, she had to do some work in her office, so I surprised her with lunch and enjoyed listening to her as she explained the experiment she’s currently working on, examining potential correlations between personality types and the Stroop Effect.” I set my coffee down, grinning excitedly. “She said I can be one of her test subjects.”

John’s brows arched, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “And I bet you really snogged after that.”

I bit my lip and glanced away out the window. “Well, it was a pretty amazing kiss. After all, she did agree to include me on her research experiment.” A thought of Victoria flashed through my mind, her ginger hair tangled in my fingers, soft skin beneath my touch, her wicked smile as I pinned her body between mine and the heavy wooden door of her office, playfully demanding to be a test subject. “You know how I feel about such things.”

“Yeah, I do.” He shook his head and laughed. “I suppose being her lab rat’s a bit like foreplay’d be to most couples.”


	8. Keep Me Sane

Chapter 8 – Keep Me Sane

 

Possibly one of the worst parts of living alone after becoming so used to John’s constant presence was the necessity of doing my own food shopping. Quite a torturous and mundane thing required for human survival, but seeing as it was an absolute requirement and Mrs. Hudson kept on in her insistent declaration that she was indeed not my housekeeper, I found myself in Tesco, picking up a few things on my way home from Scotland Yard Wednesday.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, indicating a text.

_Arrested the brother. Confessed to everything in 2 minutes. –GL_

I smiled, satisfied I was correct and didn’t bother with a reply, returning my attention to the selection of tea instead when I heard a familiar laugh from the next aisle over.

Victoria?

But she wasn’t alone. Unmistakably, I heard a very male voice along with hers. Distinct Northern England accent. Perhaps too curious for my own good, I went to the end of the aisle and peeked around a display, acting as though I was reading the label on a tin of soup, while I studied Victoria and her male companion as they teasingly argued over the choice of which crisps to purchase.

Equivalent to Victoria in age. Tall. My height or slightly more. Athletic build. Football? Rugby? Casually dressed yet in designer label clothing. Well-spoken. Educated. Well-groomed.

He pulled out his mobile, the latest high-end smartphone, reading a message, typed in a response, and tucked it away again.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“An emergency board meeting tomorrow morning. My secretary had to rearrange my morning schedule. Nothing out of the ordinary.” He smiled a too-perfect smile, showing too-perfect teeth.

Hm. Board meetings. Secretary. Successful businessman.

They finally picked two bags of crisps off the shelf and headed in my direction. I caught a glimpse of a bottle of wine among a few other grocery items in the basket the mystery man carried before I ducked away in the next aisle, escaping to the far end and avoiding them altogether, trying to make sense of what I’d seen.

She agreed to date me exclusively. It was supposed to be just the two of us. No one else should be in the equation.

Sherlock and Victoria.

Slowly, I made my way through Tesco, finding the few items I couldn’t leave without and wandered to the registers, catching eye of them entering a cab as I paid. He held the door for her. He held the door like a gentleman. Or like a boyfriend.

I grabbed my bags and determined I would walk back to 221B, a scowl the fixed expression on my face, and a dark cloud of misery and doubt looming over my head.

“Sherlock, dear, are you alright,” Mrs. Hudson questioned upon sight of me as I returned.

I didn’t reply, storming up the stairs, throwing the door open quite forcefully, and proceeded to place the groceries in their respective spots with such a fury, if they were living beings, they would surely be traumatized by my actions.

It should have come as no surprise that Mrs. Hudson stood in the living room silently watching me, though I said nothing at first, stiffly walking to my chair and sinking into it with a deep sigh.

“If you’re going to pry into my personal affairs, then could you at least make yourself useful and prepare us some tea before you begin questioning me regarding what it is that’s on my mind, Mrs. Hudson?”

She gave a small huff before heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll let it slide this once since you’re in such a tizzy, but you remember, dear, I’m not your housekeeper. Don’t you be making a habit of this just because John’s not here no more.”

_I need you at Baker Street immediately. –SH_

His reply was nearly instantaneous.

_“Emergency” related? –JW_

_Yes. –SH_

_I thought you didn’t want me calling her an emergency. ??? –SH_

_I don’t. SHE’S YOUR GIRLFRIEND. Be over later. At work still. –JW_

Later? That wouldn’t do at all. John didn’t understand how much I needed him immediately. Later was too late. I’d go mad before he would arrive later.

_She was with another man. I saw her. –SH_

_Be there in 20. –JW_

“Mrs. Hudson, John is on his way. We’ll need more tea.”

He didn’t arrive nearly soon enough to keep my thoughts from racing through all the possible scenarios, though the only one that wanted to stay in the forefront of my mind was the most painful. I’d allowed myself to feel. I’d given into sentiment. I’d let her close. I’d opened up to the possibility of love, and the result was exactly what I should have expected, exactly what I see in the world surrounding me. She drove a knife deep into my heart at the first opportunity. I let myself be weak, let her be a weakness, and she did what humans do. She took advantage of that.

I heard Mrs. Hudson greeting him and excusing herself, then the door closed, and I looked up at my best friend for a moment before dropping my head back on the armrest. “This was all a terrible mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking, John. I’m not meant to be loved. I’m not that person.” Pulling my knees to my chest, curling into a ball in my chair, I tried to make myself as small as I felt, and hid inside the safety of my coat. “I’m not you, John.”

“What the bloody hell was she doing with this bloke that you’re acting as if it’s the end of the world?” He plopped down in his chair, but I didn’t look at him again.

“She was …” Oh, it was so awful. I didn’t want to say it. “They were standing close, close to the point of touching, and they were laughing with one another, John! And they were buying crisps and wine, shopping together!”

Silence fell, and I curled into a tighter ball. Sentiment was painful.

“That’s it? They were laughing and shopping. Were they holding hands? Did they kiss or anything like that?”

I shook my head.

“Sherlock, you’re clearly jealous, but I’m not quite sure what of exactly.”

Jealous? Am I jealous? I didn’t like seeing her with someone else, another man. It hurt, made me angry and saddened me. Yes. I supposed jealously aptly described my feelings. But of what? The scene played out before me again, an unwanted film seared inside my eyelids, and I opened them wide, jumped out of the chair to stand and glare down at John.

“She …” I took a deep breath, my voice deathly low. “Victoria was so intimately _domestic_ with him, but he is not me. I should be the one doing those things.” I swallowed hard. “I _want_ to be the one doing those things.” Sinking into my chair, I stared at him. “I just want to feel normal, John. Why can’t I do that? I don’t want to be like my brother. I want something ordinary in my life, something to keep me sane.”

“You have me, Sherlock.”

“I know, John.”

That wasn’t enough anymore. He had a wife and would soon have a child. I needed more. I needed someone who was mine. He used to be, before I faked my death, back when it was just the two of us against the world, but that’s not how it was anymore.

I needed someone of my own, just as he did.

“But I want her too.”

John nodded and stood, smiling as he patted my shoulder. “Then I suggest you talk to her and figure this out. That’s what couples do. They talk, not just deduce each other or jump to conclusions, at least not if they want to remain a couple for long. Anyway, I should be going. Mary and I have dinner plans tonight.”

“Hm. Go then. I’ll be fine.”

Once the door closed behind him, I slumped into my chair while playing with my phone, and debated if I should call or text Victoria … Or simply go over there.


	9. To Be Enough

Chapter 9 – To Be Enough

 

I felt I’d been rather patient. I’d waited two hours and received no response from the fifteen texts or the three messages I’d left when I had called and her phone went directly to voicemail. Going to Victoria’s flat didn’t seem like an overreaction. I put a great deal of thought into it before doing so.

The typical human responds to memories with appropriate displays of emotions in accordance to the subject with which one most closely relates those memories. I dressed in the same black suit and purple shirt as I had our first date. Her reaction could tell me a great deal.

Would she reflect sentimental warmth when thinking of the events of that night, of saying she didn’t want to play games, that she would only be with me, and of the kiss we shared, and of walking hand-in-hand?

Or would guilt weigh on her at those same thoughts, because she’d lied, broken my trust?

The brief cab ride over felt excruciatingly long, and I couldn’t get out quickly enough, tossing the cabbie more than enough to cover the fare just to escape, though arriving at Victoria’s flat wasn’t necessarily a more comfortable situation, but I wanted to know. I needed to know what was happening between us.

I knocked sharply twice and waited, hands in my coat pockets to keep from fidgeting, not wanting to give the appearance of nervousness. Her boyfriend dropping by should be natural, shouldn’t it? It should. I was sure it should. Certainly, I would think nothing of her showing up unannounced at 221B Baker Street.

From within the flat, Victoria called out something I found to be rather indecipherable before heavy footsteps came toward the door, along with a decidedly male voice. “Got it, Vick.” The door opened, and I faced the man from Tesco, Victoria’s shopping partner. “Well, you aren’t the Chinese delivery guy.”

“Brilliant deduction.” My tone was dry and surprisingly unfettered by the sudden surge of emotions threatening to cause an explosion inside my chest.

An odd silence followed, and I assessed the situation, deducing something more than I could at Tesco.

Indeed, he was barely taller than me, but face-to-face, his physical presence felt far more intimidating than I expected, not being one easily intimidated by anyone. But this man stood in the doorway to my girlfriend’s flat, appearing as though he were some muscled fitness model for protein supplement adverts.

Yet as I felt the pangs of jealousy and hurt rise within me, he seemed at ease, looking me over from head to toe as if sizing me up with little worry that what he saw should be of any concern.

“You must be Sherlock,” he stated calmly, though I was slightly taken aback that he would be aware of me.

Victoria came out of a room down the hallway and began walking toward the door, not looking terribly surprised to see me, and smiled. “Hey there. I’m guessing you tried to reach me with no luck?” I nodded, still standing outside the door, blocked by the stranger in her life. “Lucas, quit being all weird, and just let him in, you prick.”

Lucas stepped aside, allowing me entrance, laughing as I passed him and followed Victoria into the kitchen. She dug her phone, taken apart, out of a bowl of rice, and I examined it, finding it was quite wet, obviously not a good thing for electronics.

“It suffered a catastrophic introduction to a puddle thanks to somebody,” narrowing her eyes, she pointed at Lucas accusatorily, “deciding to toss me over their shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes. The damn thing fell out of my pocket. Now I’m hoping the rice trick works, but it’s been DOA since we got back from Tesco. I was going to text and see if you wanted to join us to hang out, watch movies, and eat Chinese, but I don’t have your number memorized to use Lucas’ phone once mine was dead.”

“I’ve already apologized a hundred times and promised to buy you a replacement if need be tomorrow. I certainly didn’t mean for that to happen.” The sound of “Claire De Lune” rang through the room, and Lucas pulled his phone from his pocket with an odd grin. “I really need to take this,” he said quickly before stepping out of the kitchen.

She moved closer, taking the phone pieces from my hands and tossing them into the bowl, wrapping her arms around my neck, and looking up to meet my eyes. “I hope you didn’t worry too much.” She pushed up on her toes, reaching to kiss me, but I turned my head, taking a deep breath, releasing it slow and heavy. “What’s wrong, Sherlock?”

“Who is he?” Perhaps my words were too sharp, I realized when her fingers tangled in my hair and roughly turned my head back to face her. “What?” I asked, much softer.

“You’re jealous? You just show up here and are jealous already?”

Biting my lip for a moment, I debated not telling her, but Victoria wasn’t an idiot. She would know there was more to it. “I saw you at Tesco.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, Sherlock.” Reaching to kiss me again, this time I allowed it, and though brief, it was soft and heartfelt. “You have no reason to be jealous. If I didn’t want you, I would tell you first. I wouldn’t run around behind your back.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to feel confident that the physically perfect male specimen in her flat held no interest for her. I wanted to know that I was enough for her.

But I’d never done this before, been anything like this to anyone, and I didn’t know _how_ to know.

So I took a step backward, keeping her at arm’s length, gathering my thoughts before speaking. “Then tell me who he is, Victoria. Tell me why he’s here, and why you’re dressed in pajamas rather than appropriate clothing given that a man other than your boyfriend is in your flat. Explain to me why he calls you ‘Vick’ yet I’m restricted to calling you only by your proper given name. I need to know, because all the clues I see lead to a deduction I do not want to make.”

There was a knock at the door, and Lucas could be heard moving through the flat toward it. “I’ve got it.” Neither of us said a word, still staring at each other as he finished at the door, continuing his phone conversation with a quick, “Putting this on the coffee table, Vick.”

Even Anderson could have deduced the takeaway finally arrived.

“ _He_ is my best friend.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and gave me quite a stern glare. “And if you were any man other than you, I’d probably be pretty pissed off with the way you’re acting, but since you’re you, and you know just about jack shit when it comes to relationships and all, I will give you that this could be enough to make you jump to conclusions. However, if you would have just manned up and said something at the grocery store, you wouldn’t have been freaking out for no reason, would you?”

“You have a best friend?” Somehow, I felt I should have known this about my girlfriend. She knew my best friend, though she had been at his wedding, and I’d yet had any reason to socialize with her friends. “Your best friend is Lucas.” I pondered this momentarily, quickly moving on. “Your best friend is a man?”

Victoria holds a hand over her mouth, her face turning redder by the moment, and I recognized the behavior from previous times she’d attempted to prevent herself from laughing at something I’d said.

“What? Am I wrong?”

For at least a full minute, she laughed. “Well, as far as I know, he is. I mean, we’ve never been more than friends, so I haven’t actually confirmed that as absolute fact, but I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure he’s not lying to me about his gender, Sherlock.”

“Hey, Vick—”

“Oh, for the love of God, stop calling her that!” I’m nearly screaming as I turn around sharply, glaring at Lucas, leaning in from the hall with his head popped into the kitchen doorway.

He snorts amusedly. “Mhmm… Yeah. Not to interrupt your fascinating little domestic spat, but I’m interrupting anyway. Vick, I apologize for bailing on you, but Lizzie’s on a flight back a day early, and the flat’s an absolute tip. If I don’t go home and tidy up, she’ll know I’m a right wanker at housekeeping when she’s away. Can’t have that, now can I?”

“Of course not, Lucas, not with less than five weeks till you’ve got a ring on her finger, and she won’t know what hit her.”

“Of course not,” he replies with a smirk and a wink. “So, I’ll be off then. Oh, I doubt your phone’s going to make it. I’ll have one couriered over first thing tomorrow.” Finally, he steps fully into the kitchen. “Sherlock, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He offers his hand, and after a bit of hesitation, I shook it firmly, a smile I hoped didn’t appear profoundly annoyed plastered on my face. Shaking his head with a definitively genuine smile, he pulled a small silver case from his pocket and handed me a rectangular card from it. “Please, don’t hesitate to call should you wish to speak with me further. I’ve been a part of your new girlfriend’s life for the past twelve years, and if you intend _your_ relationship with _my_ best friend to continue, I’d quite prefer it be with the two of us beyond the most basic level of civility.”

I simply nodded and said nothing more, unsure how to respond without making matters more uncomfortable than I felt they already were. Victoria walked him to the door, and I studied the card he gave me.

_S. Lucas Fielding, Vice President of Public Affairs, Fielding & Hanson Financial Counseling_

Fielding & Hanson Financial? Wait. I’d heard of them. I recalled Mycroft mentioning he used them for all matters of his investments and whatnot, saying they were the best in London, the only company he’d trust with his money.

Pocketing the card, I looked up to find Victoria watching me, leaned against the doorway. “Sorry for the confusion and miscommunication, Sherlock. If I had known you were going to show up at my door looking every bit as sexy as you did on our first date, I would have had Lucas ready to leave the second he had a chance to say hi.” She closed the distance between us, running her hands up my chest then gripped the open neck of my shirt. “Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy you look in this purple shirt? Seeing you in it again leaves me torn between wanting you to never wear anything else and thinking I can’t possibly get you out of that fast enough.” Just before our lips meet, her gaze steadies on mine, and she whispers, “Don’t think I’m trying to rush you, Sherlock. We can take this as fast or slow as you want.”

Her lips were soft, but our kiss was passionate, and I pulled her hair from its messy bun, tangling my fingers into it, deepening the kiss as she allowed my tongue entrance. The heat and tingling rousing within me were undeniably enjoyable, exciting, enthralling, and I didn’t want to stop feeling it.

Breathlessly, I looked down at her as she slowly opened her eyes again, a small smile on her lips. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, Victoria. Mycroft taught me to believe sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side, and I spent most of my life trying not to feel anything for anyone only to learn that I’ve never felt stronger and less lost than since I’ve allowed myself to feel, to have friends, a best friend … and now you. I’ve been cold to the idea of love for too long, and it’s due time to thaw the ice.” I stroked her cheek with the back of my fingers, both terrified and excited by exploring the adventurous possibilities standing before me. “After all the years it’s taken me to get here, you aren’t rushing me. It is I who should be fearful that I may be rushing you in an effort to make up for lost time.”

She searched my face for something unknown to me before responding, leaving me rather anxious that I had cocked up the entire thing by being too forthright as John often scolds me for doing. Perhaps I should learn to keep my thoughts to myself at times. I simply never know when it’s appropriate to remain quiet.

“Don’t worry, Sherlock. You don’t scare me.”

“Good.”

I was scaring myself enough, taking such actions and feeling such emotions. But not so much that I wanted to stop. The thought of doing so was far more terrifying, though I couldn’t begin to explain why.


	10. Infinite Possibilities

Chapter 10 – Infinite Possibilities

 

5:26.

If Victoria left her office on time for once, she would be due to arrive any minute. Scanning my flat, there were still far too many things to do, and I couldn’t imagine what I was thinking, inviting her over as I scrambled to take down papers and photos from the wall, stacking them with the others left from the last few cases I hadn’t yet lifted a finger to organize and clean out of the way.

John had always done that, clean up after me, keep the flat relatively neat.

I arranged a few things on the mantle then spun around, taking in the full view of the flat, it could have been better for her first visit, but it would have to do. The hours got away from me while solving a murder with Lestrade, and I got so caught up in examining evidence at the lab with Molly, I worked straight through to finish. But I found what I was looking for, texted Lestrade what he needed to make the arrest, and arrived home less than an hour before expecting Victoria.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, I glanced into the kitchen, wishing I’d had at least a few more minutes to make it somewhat more presentable. The door opened, and I turned, my eyes growing wide in utter shock.

“You appear more distressed than usual by my visit, brother mine.”

Not Victoria.

“This isn’t a good time, brother. You should have called.”

“You would not have answered, and I was in the neighborhood. It seemed best to drop by instead,” he replied, slowly walking around the open space in the flat, carefully examining everything, no doubt noticing I’d been cleaning.

I repositioned the skull on the mantelpiece, decided I didn’t care for it any better that way, and returned it to its original position. “Oh, you never know, Mycroft. I might surprise you… Why are you here? Just get to the point, and leave.”

“You’ve found yourself a goldfish, Sherlock, and it’s simply ridiculous.” He stood straight, primly holding his umbrella while eyeing me with a distasteful expression condescending, perhaps even disgusted. “Don’t fool yourself, brother. You can’t keep her. We aren’t like them. Trying to follow John’s lead is a mistake, and you know it. What will you do with her? Get married? Have a family? Live a dull, ordinary life until you’re bored beyond comprehension and turn back to the drugs? I can’t have that.”

I heard someone at the door to 221B, and Mrs. Hudson answered it. Victoria’s voice floated up through the building, happily mingled with Mrs. Hudson’s in polite conversation.

“Victoria is not a goldfish, brother, and I am not planning to live an ordinary life.” Unafraid, I walked right up to Mycroft, standing inches from his face, my voice low and thoroughly incensed. “Victoria is my girlfriend, and I plan to live quite an extraordinary life, one expanded far past the boundaries you led me to believe surrounded me for years. I can be me, still be brilliant and the world’s only consulting detective while having a _real_ life too. _I’m not you, brother mine_.”

Mrs. Hudson burst through the door at that moment, Victoria in tow. “Oh, Sherlock, look who’s here! You didn’t mention you’d invited her over. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you tidy up a bit.”

“Because as you keep insisting, you’re not my housekeeper.”

“But Sherlock, I would have helped for this.” She seemed overjoyed at the thought of a me finally _with_ someone.

In a moment, I was standing in front of Victoria, taking in the sight of her finally at Baker Street. “Hello, darling, good day at work?”

“Productive.”

I took her hands in mine, leaning down to kiss her gently on the lips, unembarrassed by our audience. Mycroft coughed, sounding mildly as if he was being strangled. If he kept it up, I’d quite gladly see to it that he actually was.

“My, my, Sherlock, you two are absolutely adorable together,” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. Victoria and I exchanged a look, both grinning. “Should I make tea?” We didn’t answer, not looking away from one another, the breathless, pulse-racing feeling I’d become familiar with had returned, but I was finally understanding what it really meant. “Mycroft, are you staying? Did you want tea?”

“No. No. No…” He shook his head harshly, stepping briskly toward the door. “I have to be … places … elsewhere … not here.” My brother made no effort to hide the expression of horrified disgust on his face as he made a hasty retreat.

“Did you want that tea, dears?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but that won’t be necessary. I have our evening sorted, so we’ll just be needing privacy.”

She left without another word, just a wide grin and a few muffled girlish giggles.

“Well, she seems awfully happy to see me here.”

I led her further into the flat, admiring how the sunlight filtered through the windows, nearly glowing in her ginger hair.

“No one is happier to see you here than I am.”

Once she dropped her bag onto the desk chair, I pulled her hand, and she spun into my arms as if we were dancing again, so I began leading her in a dance, humming a tune I often played on my violin.

“From everything I heard about you before you turned out to still be alive, and really, a lot of what people have said about you since, I wouldn’t have expected you to be so sentimental, Sherlock… definitely not such a romantic.”

“Neither would I. I suppose it comes more naturally than one would think when I simply let it happen.”

The smile lighting her face as she looked up to me reached her eyes, and for once, I had no difficulty reading someone’s emotions. Nearly two weeks since we met, I knew I’d never felt connected to another human being in such a way, so different from my friendship with John. Never had I imagined opening myself to sentiment would lead to dancing in the living room of my flat with a woman I believed I’d fallen in love with so quickly.

Love. Could I truly feel such a strong emotion in such a short time?

“Victoria, do you believe in true love?” I shook my head and bit my lip for a moment. “I do mean to ask, how long do you believe it takes to possibly feel such a thing?”

She rested her head on my chest, continuing our dance as she spoke. “Love isn’t ruled by time restraints, how long it can take or how fast it can happen. Emotions don’t play by anyone’s rules, Sherlock. They aren’t an exact science. But I do believe in true love. I believe it’s a great mystery full of infinite possibilities. I believe love at first sight is just as possible as the slow-burn, timidly-growing kind of love and all variations in between.”

“Hm.” No better response came to mind immediately. Instead, I retrieved my phone from my pocket and turned its camera on us. “Smile.”

She did, as did I, and I set the photo as my phone’s wallpaper, the photo capturing the moment I knew of all the infinite possibilities love held in the universe, I held the woman I loved in my arms.


	11. A Risk Worth Taking

Chapter 11 – A Risk Worth Taking

 

The night had gone quite smashingly, I’d thought. We cooked penne ala vodka and did the clean up together, all rather domestic and enough to make Mycroft ill had he seen us. Afterward, we played Cluedo, and she didn’t get frustrated at me for saying the victim did it. Victoria and I had a fascinating discussion regarding the first test group of her research subjects and the generalities of their Meyers-Briggs results, though she couldn’t get into specifics due to my participation. It was late, and we were lounging on the sofa enjoying tea whilst reading _Pride and Prejudice_ together when the incident occurred.

Her phone had alerted to an email, but we’d long ignored it, unconcerned it would be anything of importance on a Friday night, but when that infernal villainous Loki began demanding, “Say my name,” from her phone, I rolled my eyes at her chosen ringtone as she laughed.

“Who’s calling?”

I reached to grab it from the desk, keeping Victoria trapped behind me where I’d been lying back against her as I read Jane Austen’s work aloud, and checked the caller ID. “Mary. Should I answer it? She’s disturbing our date night.”

“Sherlock, don’t be rude,” she teased, pinching my cheek as I leaned back again.

“Hello, Mrs. Watson. Are you well? How can assist you in further interrupting my lovely evening with Victoria?”

That earned me a flick on the ear to which I retaliated with a tickle behind her knee, but she couldn’t fight her way out from behind me, though Mary’s next words sobered any humor out of me immediately, and I sat straight up. “Oh? …Oh my… Yes. We will. Thank you for phoning.”

I handed Victoria her phone, keeping my expression neutral as I turned to sit beside her. “You’ll want to check that email, I’m afraid.”

As she did, she moved off the sofa, walking slowly toward the fireplace, and leaned against the mantelpiece. “Sherlock, I … What did Mary say?”

“With John there now, she’ll be fine. And anyhow, she said her lease doesn’t renew until November, so she has some months before the change will have an effect on her. Her concern was for you.”

Going to stand beside her, she allowed me to read the email, quite efficiently and legally worded, a cold and informative electronic letter stating she would also receive the same in the post. New ownership of the building meant a new landlord. All rent would nearly double upon renewal of every tenant’s lease. Undoubtedly, with the ever-increasing cost of living in London, there would be tenants willing to pay the ungodly new rent, but there would certainly be current tenants who could not.

“Well, I appreciate Mary’s concern. It’s definitely warranted.” My eyes met Victoria’s, hers filled with worry, and my chest tightened, perhaps in fear. “My lease renews at the end of this month, Sherlock. … And I can’t afford that, not by any stretch of the imagination. Look, I wasn’t going to mention this, but I was invited to take a professorship at Wellesley College this fall, and given this, I think I have to. Regents isn’t going to pay me more anytime soon.” She collapsed into John’s old chair, face buried in her hands. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I don’t have any other choice. I have to move back to America.”

I knew then it _was_ in fear, absolute fear. I’d lost John, in a sense, when I faked my death. He moved on, moved out, and had gotten married. Finally, I had seen myself ready to do something more than be smarter than everyone else. I wanted to be part of that life too, the sort of life John had, the friendship, the love, the _real_ life. Having it so close, feeling it within grasp of my fingertips and watch it fall through my fingers had to be every bit as painful for me as it was for John to watch me fall from the rooftop of Bart’s.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let her leave me.

“You do have a choice, Victoria.” It seemed so simple, so clear. “Don’t go.”

“Sherlock, you’re not listening. I can’t afford the new lease terms, and I don’t have time in less than a month to search for another position that pays better or hope I can find a more affordable place to live and gamble on the position at Wellesley still being available when I don’t have any luck. Those are risks I’m not willing to take.”

She stood, taking her phone, and began gathering her things as if intending to leave, and I didn’t have time left to waste.

“Am I a risk worth taking?”

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned, confusion written in her expression. “What?”

“I do believe you heard me.”

“Oh, I heard you, but would you care to expound on that a bit?”

“Is it worth remaining in London, keeping your position at Regents, and moving into John’s old room here at Baker Street if it means putting up with me on a daily basis, perhaps hours on end, dealing with my incessant and now recognizably irritating habits, which I admit will not likely change anytime soon? I will shoot the walls when I’m bored and keep inexplicably odd things such as human organs in the refrigerator. The kitchen may often be unfit for use as an actual kitchen, and I can’t promise you that I’ll ever remember to pick up milk or anything else we need. I’m quite honestly the worst flatmate you could ever have.” Daringly, I met her eyes, finding tears in them, and worried what that could possibly mean. “Truthfully, I wouldn’t want to live with me. I’m impossible at best.” With a deep breath, I stepped a bit closer, though at least an arm’s-length away, afraid how she would react with my next words, and kept my eyes on the floor. “But I also speak quite truthfully to say that I believe I love you, Victoria, though I hadn’t intended to tell you this way, and I honestly can’t bear the mere thought of you leaving. The actual event could very well be my undoing, so I ask you stay for admittedly selfish reasons in that I cannot be without you.”

Her hand slipped into mine. “I think I love you too, Sherlock.”

“What?” I jerked my head up, surprised to hear the words.

“I do believe you heard me.”

We both smirked.

“I simply meant: would you care to expound upon that statement?”

“If Mrs. Hudson doesn’t mind, yes, I’ll move in here.”


	12. Be Like This

Chapter 12 – Be Like This

 

“Molly, could you hand me the skin tissue slide?” She did so without a word, and I studied it carefully under the microscope, barely noticing the buzzing in the room.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Isn’t that your phone?”

Adjusting the magnification on the microscope, I heard the buzz again, definitely coming from my pocket. “Yes. Indeed it is. Could you get that?”

“It’s in your pocket.”

I sighed. “Yes, but I’m quite busy at the moment, Molly. This case won’t solve itself, and certainly no one else can do it.”

She pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at it rather quizzically. “It’s a series of texts.”

Rolling my eyes, I went back to studying the sample. “Read them.”

“The first one says, ‘Had some free time. Moving a few things over now.’ The next says, ‘Second bedroom isn’t very big. Mind if I put an extra dresser in your bedroom?’ Then, ‘I’ll need some closet space too.’ The last one says, ‘Is that a no or have you disappeared on a case again?’ Sherlock, what’s going on?”

“Text back, and say, ‘Move your things into my room, and put extras in the second room. Logical order of progression dictates this will save time later.’ Oh, and add three small x at the end before sending. Thank you, Molly. That should suffice.” Noticing she didn’t move to type the text I dictated, I turned away from my work, and found her staring at me. “What’s the matter?”

Molly’s mouth frustratingly fell open then closed a few more times before she found words. “Nothing. I just… That… That sounded an awful lot like… Well, that sounded like what someone would say to their girlfriend moving in, so it was just a bit odd.”

“Did you even look at my contact ID for the text before reading them? Honestly, Molly.” I shook my head, rather disappointed she missed Victoria’s name and the hearts she’d added in my contacts for herself, hearts I’d _only_ left in because I wasn’t at all embarrassed she was my girlfriend. I was actually quite proud of the fact.

“Oh. Well, that’s sweet you did that.”

“She did it. I simply left it. I don’t mind.” But I smiled, taking my phone back from Molly, entering the text she still hadn’t sent, and then turned the screen to show Molly the photo of me with Victoria. It was that photo, the one from the past weekend, the night I knew I loved her, the night I asked her to move in with me, nearly a week ago.

“Still…” She brushed her hand across her face, fingers swiping at her eye as she turned her head, and that’s when I noticed.

I should have noticed earlier. I’d been in the lab for hours. However, my mind remained preoccupied with solving the case of the moment and returning home to continue preparing for Victoria taking permanent residence at Baker Street.

“He’s a bloody idiot.”

“What?” Molly appeared confused by the change of subject.

“Tom. He’s a right bloody git for cheating on you. I know I’ve said quite terrible things in the past, but I was wrong, Molly Hooper. I’m sorry to see your engagement broken off because, truth be told, if someone as arrogant an arse as myself can find love, then certainly someone as kind and loyal such as you is even more deserved of such a thing. Given all the possible infinities in the universe, one must hold a lifetime of happiness belonging to you.”

Quite unexpectedly, I found myself with my arms full of a crying pathologist, tears dampening the shoulder of my suit jacket, her fingers with a death grip on my upper arms. At first, I did nothing, didn’t move, too stunned at what events were taking place. Molly was crying on me. I’d deduced her broken engagement, said appropriately nice things, and she began crying on me.

It occurred to me that I was her friend. Molly was grieving the loss of what she had perceived to be ‘the one’ and needed comfort. She was looking to me to provide some form of solace and support in this situation, to sympathize with her pain.

Sympathy? I had never been good with sympathy.

But my mind quickly ventured to the dark thoughts of Victoria and Lucas. What if he had been more than her best friend? What if he _had_ turned out to be her lover after I’d placed so much trust in her sincerity and faithfulness?

I would have been devastated, inconsolable.

And I wrapped my arms around Molly, holding her until her crying subsided, saying nothing, yet being there as her friend.

After a bit, she pushed herself away, still sniffling, yet her expression wore something other than sadness, something I couldn’t quite deduce in Molly. “Why? Why couldn’t you be this way before?”

However, her question left me utterly confused. “Before what?”

“Are you honestly that daft, Sherlock?” She dabbed the last of the tears from her eyes, far too angry to cry anymore. “Why couldn’t you be like this for me before Tom, before you found another girlfriend?”

“Another girlfriend? Molly, I’ve never had a girlfriend other than Victoria, so she hardly qualifies as _another_ girlfriend.”

Then she stopped, the anger slipping from her features as we both realized what she meant.

A girlfriend other than Molly. The girlfriend Molly had always wanted to be in my life.

“Molly, it would be best for all involved if I clarify that I never considered the potential for any forms of personal relationships and certainly did not venture into the development of such purposefully. John was only ever intended to be my flatmate, nothing more, never someone I cared about, most definitely not a friend. I honestly believed in what my brother taught me, that sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side and to hold sentiment for anyone would be a weakness. Never did I consider that the people who would stand beside me through the best and worst of times would be so strong that they themselves would be strengths of mine when I was found to be weak in some way. Their sentiment for me, and in return, mine for them, would be what prevented me from being found on the losing side in more than one situation, most importantly, everything involving Moriarty.”

“Sherlock—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Molly. I’m not finished.” At that, she took a seat, though she looked rather less than patient, and allowed me to continue. “Since I’ve returned after my fake suicide, it has grown ever clearer how important the relationships I’d unintentionally developed are to me, how deeply I wanted them and missed them whilst away. However, things have changed. Everyone has moved on with their lives … without me. John has Mary, and together, they have a child coming. I came to the harsh realization at their wedding that I would be more alone than not, that the flat I’d once shared with John would feel cavernous and empty, as would my life, though it never had before. And so, along with that realization, I also realized I too wanted someone to love the way John loves Mary and someone to love me the way Mary loves John. I have friends. I see that now, but I want more.”

I turned back to the microscope, hoping that sufficed in answering her questions.

“Why couldn’t I be more? Clearly, you deduced everything wrong with Tom, so why not me, Sherlock? You know how I’ve always felt about you.” Her voice was soft, yet the point concisely made.

Remaining silent for a moment, I finished examining the slide then faced her again. “That reason precisely. I knew how you felt about me. You’ve long been in love with the idea of me, the fantasy of whom or what you think I’d be as a romantic partner; therefore, a romantic relationship was the last thing I wanted to enter into with you. Should I not be what you expected, fail to live up to those fantasies you’ve long held, it would not simply be a matter of a failed romantic dalliance, Molly. I would be risking ruining one of my few friendships, one I hold dearest next to John. I meant it when I said you matter. You matter far too much for me to take that risk, particularly because I know I am not the man you think you’re in love with, and I never have been.”

A lone tear slid down her cheek, and I considered wiping it away, but I thought better of it. I did cause it, and it was better if I left it alone.

“How do you know?”

“Because we’ve been friends for too long. You expect that I’d change if I were to fall in love with you, but I wouldn’t. I’ve grown too used to taking you for granted at times and taking advantage of your good graces and using all the little tricks I’ve learnt to get what I want from you. Perhaps I’d do it less, but we both know bad habits are hard to break, and I wouldn’t stop. It certainly wouldn’t be right of me,” I admitted. “Everything with Victoria is new and has happened the old-fashioned way, falling into place naturally. Yes, at first, I tried to deduce her and treat the matter of dating like a case, but after our first kiss, it felt wrong to do so. I don’t treat her the way I’ve treated anyone else in my life. Ever. And because of that, I’m genuinely happy and in love with her the way I don’t think I could be with anyone else.”

Molly nodded, seeming to understand better. “Because she doesn’t bear the scars of knowing the ‘before’ Sherlock that the rest of us do…”

I grimaced, her words all-too true.

“Yes. Not yet anyway, and I hope those ways have softened enough that she doesn’t become hurt by them anytime soon.”

Though I wasn’t foolish to think I’d never hurt Victoria in any way, I never wanted to intentionally, and I vowed to try my hardest to make it right when I inevitably did.


	13. Having a Moment

Chapter 13 – Having a Moment

 

Moving day.

It arrived quicker than I’d expected.

Although she had until the end of June, we decided Victoria would fully move to Baker Street on the third Saturday of the month, the fifteenth, two weeks after I’d asked her to do so. This gave her time to sort whatever remaining larger items, furniture and whatnot that she wasn’t bringing with her and still have a bit of time to clean her old flat in order to receive her deposit back.

During those two weeks, we had brought over a few boxes of her belongs here and there as time allowed, trying to lessen the workload for the actual day and had done a rather fair job of it. By moving day itself, Victoria and I, along with the assistance of John, Mary, and Lucas (His fiancée was once again away since modeling apparently involved a great deal of traveling.) made quick work of packing the remaining belongings at her flat, loading them into a lorry Lucas borrowed from a family friend.

Victoria taped a box closed, patted it firmly, and looked up at me, head cocked, an odd expression on her face. “This is the last one, Sherlock. Sure you don’t want to change your mind before we head to Baker Street, unload everything I own, and I invade your home?”

“I’m positive.” Picking the box off the floor, I found I felt a sense of relief to see how empty her flat’s kitchen seemed. There was no sense of anxiety I’d worried would plague me at the air of finality that existed upon seeing her possessions boxed and prepared to join mine. “Come, darling, let’s go home.”

Home. 221B Baker Street.

In the grand scheme of things in my life, it hadn’t been my home nearly as long as other places, and for some time, I couldn’t imagine it as home without John. But as we arrived, and Mrs. Hudson waved at us excitedly, holding the door while we began unloading boxes, filing through the door, and filling the floors with cardboard cubes full of Victoria’s belongings, my mind filled with images of a far different life in my home, in our home, a more permanent change, and a fuller life.

“Oh, thank God. Here it is,” Victoria exclaimed at the third box she carried inside, setting it on the desk, tearing the tape off, and quickly pulling out its contents. “This day would drag on forever if we didn’t get some tunes going. Everything goes faster with music.” She grinned at me, and I couldn’t resist grinning in reply, taking in her vibrancy.

“I’m still learning an appreciation for certain aspects of your taste in music, but I don’t fail to appreciate your love for dancing regardless.”

Lucas entered just as the first song began, carrying three boxes at once with ease, much to my annoyance. “Music. Brilliant. I just called and ordered pizza for everyone. We’ll turn this job into a party yet, Vick.” His ability to set down heavy boxes gracefully while dancing was inhuman. “John, break it down, mate. Show me your moves,” he teased _my_ best friend the moment he came through the door.

If there was one thing that I found more irritating about S. Lucas Fielding than his habit of calling Victoria by the nickname ‘Vick’ than it was most definitely the fact that he got on all-too well with John and Mary. I could almost forgive Mary, as it seemed she had known Lucas nearly as long as she’d known Victoria, him being a friend of a friend once she became friends with Victoria. However, John…

John was _mine_ , my best friend.

“Where does this box go, Victoria? It’s marked ‘clothes – bedroom’ but not which bedroom,” Mary asked when she carried in a relatively small box, the most any of us would allow given her delicate condition, despite much argument on her part.

“Um. Well…” Victoria looked to me with an odd expression of questioning concentration, brows creased. “I have clothes in both bedrooms, but what’s left to unpack is really the stuff I actually wear, which should be where I’ll be sleeping, so… I guess upst—”

I interrupted the discussion by quickly taking the box from Mary, and without a word, I carried it directly to my own bedroom, hearing Victoria’s footsteps following behind me.

We had not yet taken our relationship to _that_ level, engaging in sexual intimacy, though we had fallen asleep together on the sofa more than once. Never had we shared a bed, even under nonsexual circumstances, not for a lack of interest on either side, I believed. At least I knew there to be no lack on my part, and Victoria seemed quite interested in every physical aspect of a relationship with me as well.

I set the box on the bed and began tapping my fingers nervously atop it, waiting for the sound of the door to close behind her, expecting a private conversation to ensue given her following me to the bedroom. It seemed only logical.

“Sherlock, I won’t feel any less welcome if you prefer I sleep in the upstairs bedroom for a while. And you don’t have to do this just because of everyone here. Our relationship status, how we choose to do things is none of their business. I don’t want to make this awkward.”

The rhythm I tapped matched that of the song playing from her iPod in the living room, and I could hear everyone else as they continued to unload the lorry, bringing the request I’d made for Victoria to move into 221B Baker Street to a conclusion, finalizing the level of commitment I’d made, one in which I found inexplicable joy.

“I know I stated that the logical progression of the relationship would lead to this as an eventuality, presumably meaning this something I intended at a future date. My apologies,” I began, “but I had yet come to a conclusive decision regarding my particular feelings on the matter at the time and felt it best not to be more specific. Will you be uncomfortable with the living arrangement if I wish you to share a bedroom with me, Victoria, if it is my desire that we live as couple rather than flatmates beginning now rather than at a later date?”

Finally, I turned to face her, finding her face flushed, eyes dilated, and had no doubt her heart raced just as mine did. “I swear not to be offended if you say this is not what you want, but I will dare to be so presumptuous as to state that you want this just as much as I do, Victoria.”

“Yes.” She whispered the word, a nervous smile trembling on her lips, but her face lit with a happiness to match my own, and I closed the distance of a few strides between us quickly, throwing my arms around her, lifting her, and spinning us around, grinning like a madman as she laughed and hugged my neck.

“Welcome home, Victoria.” Setting her back on her feet, I kissed her briefly yet passionately, unable to contain the excitement of everything I’d already found in my new perspective seemingly gained by ‘returning from the dead.’ “Now let’s ensure your personal belongings are appropriated to _our_ bedroom as they should be, darling.”

Even the sound of Loki yowling from his cat carrier in the corner of the kitchen couldn’t take the spring out of my step, and the music added a bit of extra groove, perhaps a little funk given the particular music playing while we headed back out to the lorry to get more boxes. Mrs. Hudson smiled widely at the sight of me, and I knew I wore an uncustomary wide smile myself, but I couldn’t stop.

“Oh, Sherlock, I’ve never seen you so happy, dear, not even serial murders make you so bright and cheery. It’s just lovely.”

I clasped her shoulders and took in a deep breath. “It’s a beautiful summer day, I have wonderful friends, and I’m in love, Mrs. Hudson, what more could I want?”

With a sly grin, she winked. “The pitter-patter of little feet certainly wouldn’t be an unwelcome sound at Baker Street, you know.”

“I’m quite sure John won’t stop visiting simply because he and Mary have the baby,” I remarked, slightly confused at first. Then her comment settled on me, and I was silent for a moment as she clucked on with comments regarding my personal happiness and fussed with the collar of my shirt. “You don’t think I’d bodge it up quite terribly, make a right mess of any child cursed with me as a father?”

She took my face in her hands and smiled gently, her eyes knowing more than I could fathom. “Not at all. You’d love them unconditionally, lay down your life to protect them, and teach them more than most fathers could pay an army of tutors to teach their children. Any child would be fortunate to be raised by such a wonderful man as their father, Sherlock… And you and Victoria would make such beautiful little Holmes babies,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

Nodding, I mumbled a thank you and went on out to help the rest of the group.

I’d thought at great length of wanting a ‘normal’ life like John, of love and marriage, and perhaps somewhere on the furthest edge of my thoughts, the idea that children could enter into that equation existed, but I hadn’t allowed myself to truly consider it.

In truth, I felt there was a fine line between believing I could have enough ‘normalcy’ to be happy and being greedy, wanting more than I deserved. Allowing myself to consider fatherhood too seriously had felt as though I was definitely crossing that line, wanting something I neither deserved nor was suited for in life.

But Mrs. Hudson crumbled my self-doubt in one fell swoop through the honest assessment of my landlady. She was one of the few people I trusted implicitly, despite her few questionable personal indulgences. Although, in my opinion, everyone should be entitled to their own eccentricities, and such things make them no less trustworthy to those who know them best. To that end, I held Mrs. Hudson in high esteem and took great pride in her personal opinion of me.

“What’s that adorable grin for?” Victoria reached up to lightly pinch my cheek, and I leaned over, kissing hers.

“Nothing yet absolutely everything… Books?” I glanced at the box she carried. “That must be rather heavy. Let me take it.” She shook her head but handed it over without a fight, having quickly learnt how stubborn I could be and knowing it would be far easier to get another box than argue the point. “Quite simply put, I couldn’t be more chuffed if I were the King of England.”

Victoria merely snickered, but John rolled his eyes and remarked, “Sherlock, you do know we don’t have a king at the moment, don’t you?”

I huffed. “John, I’m having a moment. Can’t you just shut up, and let me have my moment?”

“Oh, well, make way, people. The Drama King of England is having a moment,” John announced loudly, to no one in particular, and I began having a new moment, one spent reflecting on why exactly John was my best friend.


	14. One Hundred Percent

Chapter 14 – One Hundred Percent

 

The reflection that stared back at me from the mirror almost appeared as something from a horror film. Dried blood matted my hair and streaked across my face, causing a shiver to run through me at the reminders of the harrowing seven hours I’d just spent with Lestrade and Donovan.

It went insanely fast as far as murder cases go, the turn of events absolute insanity, right down to how close I came to being the next victim and Lestrade saving my life instead of John doing so.

And all while Victoria spent the last hours of her first day at Baker Street without me.

Moving day… and I took a case… then nearly died.

I showered in the hottest water tolerable, scrubbing my skin raw, reflecting obsessively over the day in minute detail, from asking Victoria to move into my bedroom to what Mrs. Hudson said about children to my all-too close view of a man’s brains splattering across a wall as he held a gun between my eyes. Every decision I’d made through the day replayed in my mind, each one along the way that led to me standing in the shower, washing away someone else’s blood at two o’clock in the morning while the woman I loved slept in _our_ bed for the first night.

Wearing nothing but my dressing gown, I didn’t bother with pajamas before pulling back the covers and slipping in behind Victoria, wrapping my arms around her, and curving myself against the back of her sleeping form. I breathed in the scent of her hair and placed kisses on her bare shoulder, hyperaware of how little clothing there was between us with her wearing a satin nightgown and my dressing gown having fallen partially open as I climbed into bed.

She stirred slightly, turning her head toward me. “Mm. You’re back. What time is it?” she asked drowsily, voice low and soft.

“After two. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered, kissing her shoulder again. “Go back to sleep.”

But she didn’t, rolling over to face me instead, fingertips lazily entwining with the ends of my damp hair in the dark, her proximity and my brush with death giving rise to my ever-deepening need for her. “Victoria…” Unsure what else to say, I pressed my lips to hers, pulling her closer, and hoped my body wordlessly said everything I didn’t know how.

Victoria tangled her fingers in my hair, tugging and encouraging the passion of our kiss, and as she hitched one leg over my hip, arching into me, I slid one hand down her body, seeking the hem of her short nightgown, stroking gently when I met with bare skin at her thigh.

“Sherlock, did you get condoms?”

She was breathless yet still composed enough to think of such matters, a topic we had discussed previously, despite not taking action to engage in intimate activities, and I was well aware of her severe allergy to oral contraceptives, accepting the responsibility to provide in that area myself.

“Yes. But they’re in the kitchen.” And I felt absolutely no desire to go retrieve them at the moment, in part because it seemed like a great deal of trouble, in part because I didn’t wish to stop touching her in any way. Most of all, I didn’t want to for a few particular reasons that weighed heavily on my mind much of the latter hours of the day, ones I could not escape after the events of the night’s case.

“In the kitchen? What, were you experimenting on them?”

Even in the dark, I felt her staring at me expectantly. “I was… um, well, yes… testing them.”

Bowing my head, I connected my lips with the soft skin of her throat as I nimbly worked my fingers along her inner thigh, attempting to effectively end the conversation.

“Sherlock?”

I groaned in frustration. “According to certain studies, the typical sexual encounter between an average healthy couple in a first-world country results in pregnancy _only_ fifteen to thirty percent of the time.”

“ _Only_ thirty percent of the time.”

“ _Fifteen_ to thirty percent,” I reiterated. “Therefore, seventy to eighty-five percent of the time, no pregnancy occurs.”

“Mhmm,” was her breathy reply as I grazed my fingers distractingly further up her inner thigh, and her fingers gripped more tightly into my hair.

“However, I love you one hundred percent of the time, Victoria, and I’m decidedly too stubborn for that to change.” My own voice sounded foreign, husky with needs and desires I hadn’t allowed before. “I intend to love you for the rest of my life. Were we to conceive a child together three years from now or six months or tonight, I would not regret it. I would love our child, just as I love you, and would give you both everything I have and all that I am to make you happy and keep you safe. Always.”

I stilled my hand, deciding I wanted an actual coherent response from her to all I had declared.

“You _are_ stubborn.” She kissed me quite soundly, with no less passion than I held for her, and left my heart racing. “And I love you too, and I believe you mean everything you say, but I’ve been in relationships before, and even though I want the same for us, are you sure you know, absolutely _know_ this soon that you’re ready for all of that, because a baby isn’t something you can just undo later.”

Rolling over to look down at her, seeing little more than the outline of her face in the pale light of the first quarter moon, I brushed the back of my fingers along her cheek and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. “By what rules does love play to claim my commitment to you now is less than that of tomorrow or ten years. … I care about few people in this world enough to call them my friends, and those I do have my utmost loyalty, but you have my heart, Victoria. You are so much more to me. … Yes, I _do_ know. With one hundred percent surety, I know.”

I lost my virginity in the wee hours of that first night _my_ bedroom became _our_ bedroom on Baker Street, and I did so forgoing pretenses of control, indulging in the passions and desires I felt for her, for Victoria, the woman I knew would be the only woman I would ever love that way, ever touch that way. We explored every nuance of one another’s bodies, leaving no secrets of the flesh, and I made love to her twice more, loving and needing the intimate connection we shared, a feeling I believed more spiritual than any religion’s god could lead me to in a lifetime of searching.

“I nearly died last night,” I confessed, Victoria in my arms, head on my chest, hair splayed everywhere, our legs tangled lazily in the quiet of the early dawn hours.

Thoughtful silence filled the room for some time after that before she said a word. “So you had a showdown with death, won, and came home set on creating a new life as further proof death didn’t get you?” I didn’t fail to notice the mild annoyance in her tone.

“Certainly, someone could interpret the sequence of events as such, but that was not it, Victoria.” Taking her hand in mine, I intertwined our fingers together and used my free hand to stroke her hair, lingering at the ends, twirling it around my fingertips. “But you can actually thank Mrs. Hudson for planting the idea quite firmly in the forefront of my mind this afternoon and for tamping down my greatest fear on the subject, that I cannot and should not be a father. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought of wanting a family, wanting us to at least. I just… I don’t know. She just made me see myself differently.”

“Friends have a tendency to do that.” I could feel her smiling against my chest, which made me smile, thinking of the ways my friends had somehow changed the way I viewed myself over time. “Still, for years you didn’t want love or children, so what’s the rush now?”

“Exactly that. Faking my death led to realizing all the things I was missing, everything I wanted yet had learnt to bury deep down beneath the icy veneer I presented to the world. Now… Now I’m more afraid of dying, actually dying, regretting all the missed opportunities to truly live when I had them. … After the whole charade of jumping off the rooftop of St. Bart’s, Mycroft made all my funeral arrangements, but I chose my own headstone, and all it had was my name, simply ‘Sherlock Holmes’. I watched John say his farewell at my grave in a cemetery dotted with headstones marking the grieved losses of beloved husbands and fathers, and once he left, I stood there alone, staring for the longest time, painfully aware of my headstone memorializing that loneliness.”

Victoria squeezed my hand and said nothing, not needing words to tell me I was no longer alone. I hadn’t been for a long time. I had John and Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade, but none of them could fill the kind of empty loneliness Victoria did.

The sun had fully risen before either of us spoke again.

“Do you know what today is,” she asked sleepily, and I was rather surprised either of us were still awake at all.

“Mm.” I yawned, thinking. “Sunday, sixteenth June?”

She waited a few moments, but I hadn’t a better answer to give, and she obliged my ignorance. “It’s Father’s Day, Sherlock. Which means, one, we should go see your parents, and two, it would be kind of perfect if we _did_ just conceive our first child, don’t you think?”

In the past, I’d have balked at the suggestion I visit my parents outside the necessity of such things as Christmas and the occasional unavoidable insistence of Mummy I couldn’t refuse, but situations change, and I wanted them to meet Victoria, knowing that, unlike my brother, they would adore and accept her as family. “If we go, they’ll want us to stay overnight.”

“I don’t have anything I have to go into the office for tomorrow, so I can make that work.”

“But you’re right. The timing of conception for our first child would be quite perfect.” I hadn’t overlooked that we’d somehow gone from discussing _a_ child to a _first_ child, yet found no fear seized me at the thought, not with how my life had changed, not with Victoria. I found only happiness and pulled her closer, leaning down to capture her lips as if it had been forever since the last time I’d kissed her. “So we shouldn’t put forth less than our best effort to ensure such perfection, should we?”

“Of course not,” she replied with a wicked grin.

Another hour passed before we left our bed for the day, and I have no regrets.


	15. Tea and Biscuits

Chapter 15 – Tea and Biscuits

 

My darling love’s best friend clearly had more money than necessary by any standards and could likely use crumpled fifty-pound notes to light any one of the three fireplaces in his penthouse flat. However, Lucas was also damned generous to a bloody fault, and because of these things, lent us a car for the three-hour drive to my parents’ house in Denby Dale, West Yorkshire. And not just any car, a posh new cherry-red convertible Jag.

Oh, the despicable things that man did to torture me.

“Only another fifteen minutes from here,” I announced, taking the exit off M1, and Victoria shut off the music in the car, though she had kept the volume down during most of the drive since we’d been talking about various and sundry topics to pass the time.

“What’s it like, the house you grew up in?”

I’d already told her my parents moved into the house in Denby Dale shortly after Mycroft was born, and I came along seven years later to spend the entirety of my childhood there. “It’s just a quaint cottage, nothing extraordinary by any means, but all the memories I have as a child exist in that house, and I can’t picture Mummy and Dad living anywhere else.”

“I can understand that. My parents sold the house I grew up in and moved upstate right outside Poughkeepsie almost six years ago. Lucas wanted to buy it just to stop me from freaking out. Aaron and I were both furious, not that we could stop them, and not that they didn’t have good reasons, but I was born in that house. Literally. My mom had a home birth because she was into all that homeopathic stuff like a leftover hippie. And Aaron basically didn’t know any other home as a kid. So yeah, I get it.”

She rested her hand on my thigh and leaned her head on my shoulder, and when I glanced in the rearview mirror, I saw her eyes were closed as she smiled peacefully, looking as content as I felt when we were together.

“I haven’t seen them in a while, not since shortly after I returned from my ‘life sabbatical’…” She laughed at my attempt at a joke. John still found nothing amusing about it, but I was thankful Victoria humored me. “It wasn’t a nice visit. I made no effort to converse, and when John turned up, I hurried them out the door without explanation or anything in the way of pleasantries to bid them farewell.”

“They’ll forgive you. I’m sure they had before you’d completely shut the door. They’re your parents, and from you’ve told me about them, they sound lovely.”

“That doesn’t change the fact I feel guilty about doing so, and I never felt guilty in the past.” Excitement and nerves grew into giant butterflies in my stomach as I turned onto my parents’ lane.

“Yes, well, the Sherlock you are now, and the Sherlock you were in the past aren’t necessarily the same. Experiences affect people, change them. Everything you’ve gone through since Moriarty has affected you, and you’re different now that you’ve allowed that to be part of you rather than trying to hide it.” She kissed my cheek, and I parked the car, turning to kiss her on the lips. “Now you’re my Sherlock, and I love you. Of course, you’ve always been your parents’ Sherlock, and they love you no matter what.”

“Sherlock!” Mummy was already at the door, waving excitedly. “Oh my! Siger, they’re here. Come on now,” she called into the house, seeking out my dad.

“Are you ready to meet the first Mrs. Holmes?” I felt as anxious as a schoolboy.

“The first?”

Biting my lip for a moment, I smiled rather shyly. “Well, I’m certainly hoping you’ll soon be the next.” Quickly, I pecked her on the cheek then hopped out of the car with a wink and ran around to open her door, knowing Mummy would have my head if I didn’t mind my gentlemanly manners. “My lady.”

When I reached out my hand, she took it with a wide smile, and I pulled her right into my arms, hugging her tightly, hearing my parents sounding off with their sentimental commentary nearby. I didn’t mind all that much if they watched. With forty-odd years of marriage and children together, no one could better understand my happiness than my parents could.

 With Victoria’s hand in mine, I led her to greet my parents, more boyish nerves and excitement flowing through me than I could recall in my life. “Mummy, Dad… this is Victoria Rose Taylor, my girlfriend,” I introduce her, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

Victoria nodded politely. “It’s wonderful to meet you both.”

I’d carefully not mentioned anything about her when I’d called to say I was coming for a visit, wanting to surprise them, and for a moment, surprise registered greater than any other emotion I could read in their expressions. Then surprise melted into joy unadulterated by judgment or misconceptions of me, the sort of joy and pride in my accomplishments only they ever displayed.

Mummy squeezed me in a bear-like hug, voice thick and wavering. “Oh, Sherlock, why didn’t you tell us such a lovely young woman would be joining you?” Turning to Victoria, the two most important women in my life exchanged bright smiles before my mum enveloped her in a hug much the same as she had me. “You, dear, are lovely, just lovely. My, my, we have so much to catch up on apparently. Come inside. I’ll put on tea.”

Dad shook my hand and patted Victoria on the back, quietly welcoming her, allowing Mummy to run the show, as always. The Holmes family was an absolute matriarchy, whether she was outnumbered three to one or not.

“Should I have Siger prepare the guest room, or is that necessary,” Mummy asked, flitting around the kitchen, preparing tea and biscuits. “Seeing the two of you together when you arrived, I’m venturing a guess it probably isn’t.”

I glanced at Victoria, who was simply grinning, while my face was warming with a noticeable blush no doubt. “Um, well… There’s something I should… hm, maybe… uh…”

“What he’s trying to say is that he asked me to move in with him, and I did, yesterday actually. So you’re right. Separate rooms won’t be necessary. Thank you for asking though.”

Mummy gave a little smirk while continuing to arrange biscuits on a plate. “I always told my husband that if Sherlock ever did date, we wouldn’t see a parade of girlfriends through here. He’d be decisive about it the way he is with everything else, find the right one, and that would be that.” The kettle whistled, and she went on about preparing tea. “So, Victoria, you’re American, a New Yorker from the sound of it. Under what circumstances did you come to live here? Education? Career?”

“Yes, Queens specifically.” She took the offered tea with a ‘thank you,’ seeming unbothered by the barrage of questions. Dad and I exchanged a knowing glance. If Mummy didn’t already like Victoria, she’d receive the silent treatment, or at best, polite disinterest. Questions were a wonderful sign and on par with the reaction I’d expected. “Education brought me here. Career kept me. I did my graduate training at Cambridge, and now I’m a professor of psychology at Regent’s doing research work between teaching classes.”

“Research?” Taking a seat to join us at the table, my mum was fully engaged on the topic, and I couldn’t have been happier for it. “Do you have a particular field of expertise, anything you’re working on at the moment?”

“Personality psychology is my biggest interest and where I focused my studies. At the moment, I’m doing a study of the Stroop Effect and the correlation of personality types to scores, using the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator test. I can’t say too much since Sherlock is participating as a test subject. He’s taken the MBTI already, but I haven’t administered the Stroop test yet.”

“Yes. My personality traits tested as INTP: introversion, intuition, thinking, perceiving, though I already knew that about myself without the test. Victoria simply proved I was right,” I remarked with a smirk.

“And he does like to be proved right,” she commented innocently, and Dad snickered at the remark. “But it’ll be interesting to score him on the Stroop test and see if attributes like thinking and perceiving correlate into lessened interference in reaction times. In the first round, subjects are timed while reading a series of color words printed in the matching color, the word ‘red’ in red ink. Then they do it again, asked to read the color of the word when the ink may be red, but the word actually says ‘purple’.”

Mummy smiled appreciatively. “That certainly does sound interesting.”

“Hm. Quite fascinating.” Dad nodded from his chair, the same content smile present that spread across his face the moment he saw us outside.

“Sherlock has always been so smart, so curious about the world around him that you’re exactly the type of woman I’d expect him to bring home, one with a strong mind and intellectual curiosity to boot. Dare we expect wedding bells and grandbabies on the horizon?”

I took Victoria’s hand in mine, receiving a smile and nod of permission before I spoke. “Yes. I have yet to officially propose or give her a ring, but to say we’re merely dating or describe each other as boyfriend and girlfriend definitely lacks the necessary effect to encompass the level of commitment in our relationship.”

Tears glistened in my mum’s eyes, but her expression exclaimed joy, absolute delight. “Why, Sherlock, I do believe that’s the most sentimental thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

I laughed. “To be honest, I was quite glad of the opportunity to bring Victoria here to meet you this weekend. I can say without reservation that she _is_ the love of my life, and I want … no, I _need_ her to feel accepted by my parents.” With a wide grin, I added, “Now _that_ is the most sentimental thing you’ve ever heard me say.”

Dad leaned closer to the table, resting his arms on it, eyeing me then Victoria. “Well, if you can get poetic confessions of love like that out of my son, you have my vote.”

“My dear,” Mummy said, patting Victoria’s arm, “you had my vote the moment I saw the way my Sherlock looks at you. Now, once an engagement is official, will it be a long one, because I think an autumn wedding would be quite lovely.”

Grinning, though I could tell she was trying not to smirk, Victoria took a sip of tea before calmly replying, “We haven’t discussed the details, but I’d say it’ll be a very short engagement.”

I bit my lip, remaining thoughtful rather than vocal on the subject. Perhaps in a month we would know if we needed to plan a wedding date to suit the impending arrival of our first child, and I knew my mother would be thrilled, but I didn’t want to give her false hope. I held enough hope for us both, enough for everyone.


	16. Under the Oak Tree

Chapter 16 – Under the Oak Tree

 

The sun filtered through the sheer curtains of my parents’ bedroom window, catching the diamond ring in my hand, light sparkling and refracting in a spectacular fashion despite the simplicity of it. Nothing more than a princess-cut, half-carat, white gold, solitaire engagement ring, the honor of merely holding it felt a tad overwhelming.

“Do you like it, dear? I know it’s simple by today’s standards.”

“Mummy, of course I do. It’s beautiful. It’s elegant. … It’s perfect. But are you sure?” I couldn’t help but keep asking myself how I got there, standing in my parents’ room with my mum offering her grandmother’s engagement ring to me, passing down a family heirloom so that I could make a real marriage proposal to Victoria. Hadn’t just a month ago I’d been still doomed to a life alone? Considering my vast spectrum of faults, which my ‘friends’ were quick to remind me of, I found it difficult to comprehend how my life fell into order so quickly when I wanted it to change.

I may have been on the side of the angels, but I wasn’t one of them. Yet fate, destiny, karma, or something of the like seemed to be on my side.

“If you want it, it’s yours, Sherlock. If you’d rather not take it now, just leave it, and it’ll be here when you’re ready, but mother’s intuition tells me you are, and so is Victoria.” She patted my cheek and gave me a kiss, something I would have shied away from in the past. “My little boy has done quite well for himself. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, your father and I both are. You’re going to be such a fine husband and father, Sherlock.”

“Thank you,” I replied in little more than a whisper, afraid my emotions would get the best of me.

She nodded knowingly. “I should go start dinner before we’re all starving. Those biscuits won’t tide us over forever.”

But when she left the room, we both knew it wasn’t in a rush to prepare a meal, rather to give me a moment alone, time to think and shore up my resolve to action because I certainly wouldn’t be leaving the ring behind.

It wasn’t long before I’d returned downstairs and excused Victoria and myself out for a short walk, much to my parents’ quiet delight.

We really didn’t walk far, only strolling out to the massive oak tree behind the house, just beyond the line of sight of the kitchen window. “I wasn’t always as serious a child as my brother would often have people believe. At one time, I wanted to be a pirate more than anything else and had a dog I named Redbeard. We’d run around this tree, playing fetch, and doing all the typical things little boys and their dogs do. He was my best friend, and in all my childhood innocence, I thought he would live forever, or at least as long as me, always be at my side, never leave me. Of course, that was a childish dream, one that couldn’t possibly come true and didn’t.”

I leaned back against the tree, pulling her to me, thankful for the way she silently touched my face, a simple gesture of love and heartfelt sympathy, uncomplicated by words I didn’t need.

“Now the dream I have isn’t childish and is quite possible. More than anything else, I want to be a husband and a father. I want to live the forever we’re given with you at my side. I’ll never leave you, and I want you to never leave me.” Slipping the ring from my pocket, I took her left hand and gently slid the symbol of everything she meant to me onto her ring finger, watching tears fill her eyes. “Soon, very soon, while the days are still warm, would you do me the honor of marrying me under this oak tree, Victoria Rose Taylor?”

“There is nothing I’d like more, William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” she answered with a grin. I had said I wasn’t overly fond of my full name when I told her what it was, but it turned out, what made me cringe from anyone else’s mouth was something that gave me a small thrill when spoken by Victoria.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear those words, no matter how sure I thought that would be your answer.” I kissed her, a lingering, promising kiss, smiling like every bit the man in love I was when our lips parted. “I do enjoy being proved right.”

“I know. … We should go tell your parents and probably Skype mine.”

“One more thing before we go inside.” I turned her, leaning her back against me, wrapping my arm around her waist, and pulled my phone out, holding her left hand to proudly display the engagement ring placed there then snapped several photos of us under the oak tree. “We need to send out an announcement to everyone,” I explained, scrolling through the pictures, arms still around Victoria. “What do you think of this one?”

“Hm. Yeah, I’d say it’s the best. You look adorable trying to kiss my cheek with my hair in the way like that. It’s cute.”

I shook my head, laughing quietly and placed a quick kiss on her shoulder. “Well, I suppose that’s true, but I was thinking about how much I love the way your dimples show when you smile that way. … And the sun shining through the branches highlights your hair beautifully. Yes, this one definitely.”

Creating a group text, I included all the people we would want to inform of the news: John, Mary, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Aaron (whom I’d met via Skype twice and liked a good bit), Mycroft, and Lucas. I then added a simple message before pressing ‘send’ on our engagement announcement photo.

_The wedding is on! –SH & soon-to-be VH_

We strolled back to the house hand-in-hand, my phone buzzing with multiple texts just as we reached the door.

_Congratulations to you both! We must go out to celebrate when you return! –Lucas_

Holding back a sigh, I replied: _Of course. –SH_

_You don’t believe in weddings and marriage. HA! Cheers, mate! Thank her for making a liar out of you. –JW_

Victoria laughed when I showed her John’s text as I typed in my response. _I am a liar and never more pleased to be wrong. –SH_

_Lucky bastard. Best of luck to that poor girl. –GL_

_Does this mean more napkin folding lessons on YouTube? ;-) –Mary_

To Graham, I sent: _I know I’m lucky. –SH_

And to Mary: _If she wants me to expand my current skill set. –SH_

“YouTube videos on napkin folding? Do I even want to know?”

Pecking her on the lips, I nodded, unashamed. “As John’s best man, I was involved in _every_ aspect of their wedding planning, including learning to fold the napkins for the table settings. I have a preference for the Sydney Opera House style, but if you prefer swans, I can do those. If neither of those appeals to you, then Mary’s right, and I’m back on YouTube.”

“Opera houses sound wonderful, as long as you teach me how to help you make them.”

“I can do that.” Taking her hand in mine, I played with the ring on her finger, admiring the way it shone in the sunlight. “Would you like to learn within a month’s time?”

Victoria squeezed my hand. “Wait, are you saying—”

“That I want you to become Mrs. Holmes in one month with a wedding that suits us, elegant yet not extravagant, and with lots of dancing. The time would be perfect that our wedding gift to each other might be finding out we’re expecting.”

“Or worst case scenario, spending our honeymoon trying harder.” God, I loved her smirk.

“I love the way you think, my beautiful fiancée.”

She pressed her lips to mine, speaking so I felt her words on my skin. “Then it’s settled. In a month, my brilliant fiancé will be my brilliant husband.”

“Yep.” I popped the ‘p’, just a tad nervous but far more excited, elated even.

My phone buzzed again, and I checked it to find a reply from Aaron incoming. Immediately, I turned my phone to show Victoria.

_AWESOME! =D Skype when u get back! B safe! –A_

“Equal D? That’s another one of his emoticons, isn’t it?” I was still learning to understand Aaron-speak in texting. He didn’t always complete sentences or even words and randomly threw in strange symbols and acronyms.

“It’s a big smiley face. And you really need an emoji app on your phone,” she said, so I handed it over, letting her take care of that and reply to the man she considered her brother as we walked inside.

“Myc just called,” Mummy announced the moment we entered the kitchen. “Honestly, Sherlock! You text your brother before you tell us, and we weren’t but a hundred meters away!”

I had begun apologizing only to be stopped by her pulling us both into a smothering hug, nearly incoherent in her excited state, chattering on about lovely this and darling that, and everything was just precious apparently. Never had I heard her speak in such a way.

Things finally settled down as we all sat down to dinner, though after Dad offered up a toast, my mum got a bit teary over him saying, “Cheers to the happy young couple. May you be blessed with a home full of love and a healthy new generation of Holmes to keep you on your toes.”

“I know you said you’d likely have a short engagement, but have you discussed a date yet? Or a venue?” Mummy inquired, a twinkle in her eyes that said she’d gladly have us saying our vows that very day with nary a complaint from her mouth.

“Actually, we have.” I set down my fork and looked from my dad at one end of the table to my mum at the other. “We intend to marry in one month, on Sunday, fourteenth July, and we would very much like to do so under the oak tree out back, if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind? Don’t be silly!” There were tears rolling down Mummy’s cheeks as she reached out to take my and Victoria’s hands. “We don’t mind one bit, do we Siger? Anything we can do for you dears, anything at all, you just ask.” She didn’t actually wait for a response from Dad, though he did let us know he agreed. “Our baby is getting married.”

The baby of Siger and Violet Holmes’ family, it was one of many roles I played in life, places I fit in which I’d finally learned to accept and better understood, places among family and friends. Soon, I would take on the most important role I’d ever had — husband and father in the Sherlock and Victoria Holmes family.

“Yes, I am, Mummy.” Turning, I smiled at Victoria and reached to take her free hand. “Yes, I am.”


	17. Faith in Us

Chapter 17 – Faith In Us

 

“That’s absolutely beautiful. What’re you playing?”

I glanced toward Victoria yet caught myself staring at the way that black dress fit her. Strapless and knee-length, it hugged her curves quite deliciously and finished with a satin ribbon tied at the waist like a gift for me to unwrap later. “Hm? Oh, it’s just a little something I’m composing.”

“Well, it sounds wonderful, but you need to finish getting ready. The car will be here soon, Sherlock. We’re supposed to be there by eight. Where did you put your tie, and why aren’t you wearing shoes yet?” She ran a hand across her forehead, pinching the bridge of her nose, and I felt a pang of guilt for agitating her, knowing she’d been rather tired and cross much of the day. “Believe me, I’m not really in the mood for this either, but Lucas went to a lot of trouble to do this, even after the week he’s had, so just let him congratulate us in… you know, his very Lucas way. Eventually, you _will_ get used to it.”

“Dinner at one of London’s most prestigious restaurants, three Michelin stars no less, with barely a week’s notice, a car to fetch us, and I have to wear a godforsaken tie? Not seeing how that will become normal anytime in my near future, darling.” Her face expressed a lack of amusement, and I set down my violin to focus on neatly organizing the composition notes on the music stand. She’d been on a mad tear, cleaning the flat that morning. “But for you, I’ll make my best effort.”

Finding my tie draped over the microscope in the kitchen, she brought it over, finally smiling. “Lucas genuinely wants everyone to get along. He did invite John and Mary.”

“And Mycroft,” I muttered, using my reflection in the window to tie a crisp Windsor knot. Turning to her again, I put on a smile and asked, “How does that look?”

“You…” She inhaled heavily, licking her lips, and I wanted to take her to our bedroom right then and there. “God, Sherlock, you really have no idea how handsome you are, do you? You worry too much about Lucas for nothing. I love you. I’m marrying you. He’s never, never been the one.”

Pressed between the window and Victoria’s body, entangled in a passionate kiss, sliding my hands along her dress to her arse, pulling her harder against me, I didn’t care one bit about dinner out. Another night spent celebrating our engagement alone at Baker Street sounded more than sufficiently appealing.

Unfortunately, we had other plans, and two hours later, the six of us were well into drinking, dining, and conversing at Le Gavroche. Although, Mary drank only water, and after one glass, Victoria complained the wine wasn’t sitting well with her, opting for water as well. She’d behaved quite peculiar all day, and I’d expected socializing with our friends would put her to rights, but she still seemed a bit off.

She took a bite of her salmon she’d been eating at a painstaking pace then suddenly threw her fork on her plate, pushing her chair back from the table, and stood, swaying slightly. “Please excuse me. I don’t feel well.”

I stood as well, wanting to help but at a bit of a loss as to what I should do when Mary hopped up from her seat. “I’ll go with her. Don’t you worry about a thing.” She gave me what I was sure she meant as a reassuring smile as they walked away, but still felt quite uneasy.

“Should I go ahead and send for the car?” Lucas asked, and I simply nodded, barely noticing as he left the table.

Something was amiss.

“Is there information of note you’re failing to share, brother mine?”

If I had bothered to look, I was sure Mycroft’s face wore the same smug expression as usual while I fit together the pieces of the puzzle…

“Sherlock, are you okay?” I looked to John and felt my heart racing. “Sherlock?”

“She’s pregnant,” I stated in the calmest tone I could muster.

The table fell silent for a few moments before John spoke again. “Sherlock, don’t go making crazy deductions, jumping to conclusions, and getting hysterical with worst case scenarios. Maybe she’s just sick.”

Worst case scenarios? “No, you don’t understand. _Victoria is pregnant._ ” Both John and my brother were being rather exasperating with their baffled expressions. “She’s been of quite a temperament today, took a nap this afternoon, which she never does, and then tonight the wine didn’t sit well with her, but she loves wine, now she’s feeling ill.” I was quite proud of myself for not overlooking anything. “My fiancée is clearly pregnant.”

“Oh, brother mine, I have done a great many things to help you out of troublesome situations you’ve found yourself, but I am afraid even I must take the moral high ground and refuse any action on this matter.”

I stared at my brother, blinking rapidly and trying to collect my thoughts. “Are you… I’m not even sure I can comprehend what level of absolute mortification is most appropriate at the moment. I tell you I’m going to be a father, you an uncle, and your immediate reaction is essentially one of threat assessment and damage control. If that’s how you wish to be, very well, _brother mine_ , but I’ll have you know, both of you,” I snapped sharply at John, “because don’t think I didn’t notice your insinuations… I’ll have you both know that I noticed these things in Victoria as it happened that I’ve been carefully watching, having studied up on the earliest signs I could expect to confirm conception, _hoping_ she’d be one to display symptoms as soon as six or seven days. I wasn’t sure I could last two weeks without a sign, and I will be more than relieved once we can confirm with proper testing. What you both fail to see in this is that I’m _not_ facing a worst case scenario and am _not_ in need of anyone’s help out of the situation.”

The three of us remained silent until Lucas returned, and I kept fidgeting with anything within arms’ reach worried about Victoria. “The car’s ready when you are, mate.” Lucas glanced toward the doorway where the girls disappeared off to the loo. “They aren’t back yet? Is Vick alright? I can count on one hand the number times I’ve known her to be sick in the last twelve years.”

“She’s not sick, Lucas, she’s pregnant.” A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth, hearing myself say those words again. The more I said it, the more real it became, and I didn’t want to stop saying it, though I mentally cringed at the lurking doubt in my mind, the smallest of fears that my deductions were wrong, but I pushed that aside, determined to remain positive. “It’s too early to confirm, but the signs are there, and I’m rather confident in my skills of deduction.”

Mycroft frowned but tilted his head toward me. “I believe it would be in error to disagree with your assessment. The evidence does seem rather irrefutable, and you, dear brother, would be most knowledgeable regarding possible dates of conception, which incidences contraception failed.”

“He’s right, or you’re both right,” John added. “You were certainly right about Mary, and the symptoms you’re talking about are medically sound. And as Mycroft pointed out, you’d best know the timing of it all.”

Lucas slowly looked around the table, clearly gauging the tension among the three of us then smiled at me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Well, I don’t care what anyone else says, mate, I think it’s fantastic news, and I’m happy for you both. Congratulations. If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, you let me know. With everything … I’m less busy.” Despite our differences, I felt a pang of sympathy for the bloke, the way Lizzy ran off to Paris with that photographer not even a week before their wedding, scandalous tabloid fodder to plague the Fieldings. “I’m freed up to be a dedicated uncle to the little guy… or girl.”

“Excuse me.” Mycroft turned indignantly on Lucas, surprising me given their general congeniality toward one another. “You’re of no blood relation to either Victoria or Sherlock; therefore, I’m the only uncle sitting at this table. In fact, I’m the only uncle at all.”

“Oh, shut up, Mycroft, minutes ago my child was nothing more than a ‘troublesome situation’ as far as you were concerned,” I nearly growled, already feeling keenly protective of my child. My child. I loved the sound of that. And regardless of what he said at the time, I knew Victoria was right about my brother, his overprotective nature. Eventually, either on his own or with a bit of assistance from Mummy, he would come around completely on the matter. That didn’t change the fact he was being an absolute arsehole. “Victoria will have it no other way but Aaron and Lucas both acknowledged as uncles, so just step off your pompous little pedestal now.”

At that moment, I spotted Mary and Victoria reemerging and quickly excused myself, grabbing her clutch with every intention of whisking her away. Lucas was right on my heels. “Don’t feel like you have to defend me to your brother, Sherlock. What’s the worst he can do? Be an arrogant arse?”

“He’s the British government. You don’t want to know the worst he can do,” I replied under my breath, swiftly wrapping an arm around Victoria’s waist and waving Mary off with a quick ‘thank you’ and a forced smile. “Darling, how are you feeling?”

“Dizzy and terrible. I just want to soak in the tub then sleep.” She rested her head on my shoulder, and I ran my fingers over her flushed cheeks. “Lucas, I’m sorry. You must be paying a fortune for this dinner only to have me flush it down the toilet.”

“Vick, really?” He waved a finger at her in mock admonishment. “You let Sherlock take you home. Glancing to me, he added, “and I’ll check on you tomorrow if you don’t mind.”

“Stop around for tea if you like. I’m sure we’ll be home with Victoria needing her rest and all.”

There was a definitive air of appreciation in his tone as we said our good-byes and further mentions were made of seeing one another the following day before Lucas hugged Victoria goodbye and gave me a firm handshake, quietly telling me to take good care of her, not that anyone needed to tell me to do so.

We had just arrived at Baker Street when my phone buzzed, and I checked to find a text from John.

_Congratulations. Sorry I didn’t say before. You’ve changed. All in good ways. I just don’t know what to expect from you now. –JW_

I ran a bath for Victoria and helped her settle in to relax a bit whilst I went to make her some soothing chamomile tea and texted him back.

_No apologies needed. I’ve changed. So have you. You’re still my best friend. We’re both learning what to expect now. –SH_

By the time I’d returned to check on Victoria, I’d rid myself of my jacket, tie, and waistcoat, and she was washing her hair. “Here, let me help you.” I knelt on the floor beside the tub, insisting more than asking permission, satisfied with the way she relaxed into my touch as I worked my hands through her hair. “You do realize what this means, don’t you? Feeling unwell like this?”

She froze, still as a statue. “Sherlock, it’ll be another week before a test could tell us anything. Try not to get your hopes up, just in case. I don’t want us to be disappointed if this isn’t it.”

I placed my hand low on her abdomen, over where our child would be, where I felt sure it was, spreading my fingers wide. “I’m not a religious man. I don’t believe in a god or a higher power. However, I do have faith in us, and because of that faith, I believe the signs I see are not false or specious. I don’t need logic and deductions to know what I do. In my heart, I feel it, a sense you’re carrying my baby just as strong as knowing I love you, Victoria.”

Long after she fell asleep that night, my mind kept me awake. Thankfully, she was a heavy sleeper, and I moved in bed to situate my head on her stomach, pulling her nightgown up to rest my hand over our baby again. There was something in the action that felt remarkably soothing.

“I know you’re in there, though nothing can tell us for certain quite yet, and you can’t hear me. Perhaps it’s rather silly of me, wanting to talk to you, but I want you to know from the very beginning that despite what you may one day hear about me and the person I once was, I am your daddy, and I always loved you and always wanted you. Unquestionably, unreservedly, unconditionally, always. … Although I don’t know if I want you to be a boy or a girl yet, but no matter. I’ll learn everything I can to be ready, and your mum will be here to make sure I don’t muck it all up. She’s a fantastic woman. You’ll love her. Hopefully you’ll love me too.”

Victoria complained I slept with all the stillness of a tornado, but the next morning, I awoke in the same position as I’d dozed off, my hand unmoved, Victoria sound asleep. And I never cared any less than I did in that moment about such trite nonsense as Earth revolving around the sun. My whole world had shifted to revolve around the two beings in that bed with me at 221B Baker Street— my soon-to-be wife and our child. I didn’t care that I could only physically see one of them. They were both there, and they meant everything in the world to me.


	18. I'm Fine

Chapter 18 – I’m Fine

 

“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

That is a quote credited to the thirteenth-century Persian poet Rumi, which Victoria found in a lovely print and had framed as a gift for me, given without particular reason Thursday evening after she’d returned from a rather exhausting day at the university, administering the Stroop test to another group of subjects in her study. I hadn’t yet found where to hang the framed quote, but I did quite like the meaningfulness behind it and would hang it somewhere I would see it often.

At least I would when I had enough time at home to do so.

“Exactly why did you call me again, Lestrade? This is getting rather tedious. Those four cases yesterday were ridiculous. Three were laughable twos at best. Albeit, the last was a six, barely, but still, you called after you’d mostly sorted it yourself. … And now this? Why did you even … For God’s sake, please tell me you know what’s going on here. It’s so clear the man was having an affair, blatantly obvious enough to send his wife into a homicidal rage. She’s doing a lovely job with her mourning widow, sniveling theatrics, but I’m sure one of your officers can find it within themselves to interrupt her performance and make the arrest anyway.”

The Detective Inspector looked around the room, anywhere but at me. “I thought, you know, perhaps looks might be… deceiving or something. Best get a second opinion from a trusted source before accusing the wife. … That sorta thing.”

“Gavin, did John call you?” I asked pointedly.

“Greg! Dammit, Sherlock, my name’s Greg, and you should know that for as long as we’ve worked together! Christ. If you can’t remember my first name then don’t even bother. Just call me Lestrade, and stop trying.” He stormed out of the house, and I followed, smacking myself in the head.

“Greg. Greg. Greg. Bloody hell, why can’t I ever remember that?” Catching up, I jumped in front of Greg, stopping him short, and we stood face-to-face. “Greg, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Well, I’ll be damned. A date, a girlfriend, an engagement, now an apology, I’m afraid to ask what might come next.”

I smirked. Oh, if he only knew, but Victoria insisted I not say anything else until we had confirmation. My phone buzzed, and I suspected it was a list of a few things to pick up at Tesco on my way home. She’d begun having a craving or two in the past couple days, though she wouldn’t admit that’s what it was.

“Victoria?” he asked, gesturing to my phone.

‘Mhmm’ was the most coherent response I could give, stunned to near silence by the picture that popped up on my screen when I opened her text message. I zoomed in to inspect it more closely, but it was exactly what I thought it was at first glance, and I went back to looking at the whole picture, admiring it actually. Admiring it and smiling so widely I undoubtedly looked like quite a madman, but I didn’t care one bit.

“This is what comes next, Greg.”

He studied the picture on my phone’s screen then gave me a puzzled look. “That’s not a…”

“A home pregnancy test? Yes. And in this particular case, those two pink lines indicate a positive test result.” She hadn’t warned me she intended to take the test that morning, but no doubt she knew I’d hover anxiously waiting for the results, making her more stressed about it than necessary. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“What’s amazing?” Donovan asked, sauntering over and into the conversation without invitation. “Photographs of human body parts you’re experimenting on?”

Greg and I both chuckled. “Hardly,” I remarked with a grin and turned the phone to her.

“Wait. Is that Victoria’s?” I nodded. “You’ve got a little freak on the way?” Sally winked, her teasing far more good-natured than in the past. “Well, no more grand disappearing acts then, _Daddy_. Give Victoria a hug for me. I like her. Jury’s still out on you.”

“One time! One time I bring her to the Yard and now this? Have I honestly been that bad?”

“Yes!” they answered in unison, quite adamantly.

I huffed, shaking my head at the two of them. “Well, I see how it is. As you can tell by this,” I waved my phone, “I have better things to do, so I’m just going to nick a few things off the ambulance and be off now.”

_On my way home. Can’t wait to see you. Need anything? xxx_

She didn’t reply very quickly, which worried me, though it seemed I spent a lot of time worrying over her. My fiancée, the woman carrying my child, had been excessively fatigued during the last week and nauseous more often than not.

_Yay! Strawberries would be nice. <3_

_And chocolate._

_DARK chocolate._

_A grapefruit._

_Just one._

I laughed but told the cabbie to stop at the Tesco nearest Baker Street. _Will get those and remember milk. Text anything else you think of. xxx_

Ten minutes into walking around Tesco, I received another text from Victoria. _Forget the grapefruit. Please buy oranges instead._

Quickly following that began an obsession over dinner plans.

_Do you want Thai tonight?_

_I’m in the mood for Thai. Can’t stop thinking about it._

_We could go out._

_Maybe get takeaway._

_Not sure how I feel yet._

_Are you okay with Thai again?_ _J_

We’d had Thai three times in the past week. _Anything you’d like. I’m fine. xxx_ I couldn’t tell her enough how much I absolutely meant that. Anything. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her, any length I wouldn’t go to ensure her health and happiness, especially during pregnancy.

I nearly toppled over with the shopping bags when Mrs. Hudson swung the door to Baker Street open, ushering me in quickly. “Sherlock, dear, is Victoria alright? She sounded ill earlier, and when I took some tea up for her, she was sound asleep on the sofa, didn’t stir at all, passed out cold. Poor thing looked absolutely exhausted.”

“In my personal opinion, Mrs. Hudson, Victoria is just fantastic, feeling a bit pregnant at the moment, but that’ll pass roundabout early March, and I expect we’ll be far too occupied then with the rewarding end result to concern ourselves with the minor inconveniences occurring at present.”

Never had anything I’d ever said to Mrs. Hudson clicked in her mind quite so quickly to produce such an amusing reaction. “Sherlock! A baby! Oh my!” She exclaimed loudly enough for all of Baker Street, perhaps all of London, to hear, whilst attempting to hug me despite my arms full of shopping bags. “This is just wonderful news, Sherlock. I’ve got to tell Mrs. Turner.”

With that, she ran into her flat, a tad more spring to her step, and I simply shook my head, climbing the steps home.

“Well, hello there, Loki.” For being Victoria’s cat, he’d taken quite a liking to me and made a habit of meeting me at the door anytime I arrived home, regardless if I’d been gone hours or stepped out to fetch the post. “Where’s Mummy? Have you been a good boy for her today?” He followed me into the kitchen, and I heard Victoria talking in the bedroom, from the sound of it, on the phone with Aaron, who was due to arrive the next day and stay for three weeks, leaving the Tuesday after the wedding. “You’re always good, aren’t you?”

In the bottom of one bag, I found the cat treats I’d bought and set them aside, quickly sorting through the rest of my purchases, putting everything in its place before opening them. Once I’d finished, I took up residence in my chair, as usual, and Loki joined me, lounging on the arm, waiting for the three treats, as Victoria only allowed three per day for health reasons. I’d been scolded quite harshly for giving him an entire bag of treats the first day I’d been alone with the cat.

“What do you want, Loki?” He reached out, placing one paw on my closed hand I held in my lap with my legs crossed. “Come here if you want something.” At that, he stepped off the arm of the chair and balanced his sleek black body perfectly to sit on my knee, tail curled around my leg, bright green eyes staring at me. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you, Loki?” He chirped in response, something he typically did instead of meowing like a normal cat, and thus earned his treats, one at a time, finishing off by curling up in my lap to receive his daily dose of demanded attention.

“Sorry about that,” Victoria began the moment she exited our bedroom. “Aaron had to reschedule his flight. His biggest client had some kind of security breech on their server system or…” She pinched the bridge of her nose, and I imagined she was trying to recall the lingo Aaron used. He owned a relatively successful cyber security consulting business, not exactly my area of expertise, nor hers. “You know, some big, bad computer thing happened, and it’ll take him most of this week to calm it down before he can leave. Right now, he’s booked to come in Friday night, but he still has to leave on the sixteenth for that conference. And you aren’t overfeeding Loki again, are you?”

“Of course not. Have you eaten anything?” I inquired, nonchalantly adding, “I need to take your blood and can’t have you getting dizzy afterward.”

She simply rolled her eyes. “You need to take my blood. Of course you do. I’m pregnant. Why wouldn’t you?”

Loki decided he was done with me and jumped down, freeing me to go to Victoria while she found the strawberries I’d just brought home. “I swear I have no intention of experimenting on you, darling.” Standing behind her, I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her back against me, and ran my hands down over her stomach and further until they lay flat and protective over our baby. “But I texted Molly, and she’s at the lab right now, so if I take a blood sample, it’ll be no trouble at all to pop over, run the test, and have an absolute confirmation of the home pregnancy test’s results.” I kissed her shoulder, swaying side-to-side slightly. “Please. It would make me indescribably happy to do this. I still want you to make an appointment with a doctor right away, but I want to do this myself.”

“Fine. It’ll be a fun story to tell later about how Daddy ran the lab test to tell us beyond a doubt we were going to be parents for the first time.” She turned to look at me over her shoulder, a smirking grin on her face. “Anyway, I’d rather let you do it now than wake up to you poking me with a needle, trying to sneak off with my blood.”

I couldn’t get to Bart’s fast enough, running down the stairs instead of taking the lift, and bursting into the lab out of breath. Molly lifted a brow into a quizzical expression, and cocked her head, eyeing me carefully. “I didn’t realize you were on such an urgent case, Sherlock. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you come through the doors quite like that before.”

“This isn’t for a case, far more urgent … and of a personal matter, Molly.”

She opened her mouth as if to ask questions then said nothing more and left me to go about my business.

The procedures for running a quantitative serial beta hCG test were incredibly basic and not at all time-consuming; however, the wait for machines to produce results when the results are paramount to one’s personal happiness is an infernal eternity. Eventually, I had the results in hand, studied the numbers and compared them to the reference chart. “No. That’s not…” Frustrated by the discrepancy, I pulled out another reference book then did a search online for yet another source of comparison.

“Sherlock, are you crying? What’s wrong?” Molly moved to put an arm around me, no doubt wanting to comfort me in her own way, but I side stepped her effort, folding the printed results and slipping them into my pocket.

“I’m fine. Excuse me for a moment.”

In the hallway, well away from the door to Molly’s lab, I pulled my phone from my pocket, took a deep breath, and grudgingly made the very necessary call.

“Brother mine, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” He reveled in me calling given the rarity of it happening, always hoping I required something of him, something _only_ my brother could provide.

Unfortunately, that was exactly the reason I had called. “Cut the pleasantries, Mycroft. I’m calling in a favor, and whatever you ask in return, consider it done.”

“Do tell. What could you possibly need so desperately?” All smug amusement had dissipated, and a hint of genuine concern laced his tone in its place.

“I need an appointment for Victoria with the top obstetrician in London, first thing Monday morning, and any additional evaluative procedures necessary; sonograms and such, _will_ happen immediately in their office, not be scheduled for later. Surely a task such as this is a simple one for you.”

“Simple?” He huffed, a sort of derisive laugh. “You amuse me, brother. I can see to the arrangements with a single phone call. The question is, why the sudden urgency? You knew Victoria was pregnant a week ago.”

“I just ran a quantitative hCG, and the results aren’t what I expected.” With a sigh, I leaned against the wall, letting my head fall back, and closing my eyes as I explained. “I know the exact date of her last menses and am quite positive regarding the date of conception, as it was an intentional act with me being perfectly well aware Victoria would still be ovulating. The concern I have is that her hCG level is forty-eight percent above the median norm, and that, combined with her particularly… noticeable symptoms at such an early stage…” I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, steeling myself to say the words aloud. “Those are indicative of multiple pregnancy. … Brother, Victoria may not simply be pregnant with my child, she may be pregnant with my _children_ ; therefore, you must see the compelling logic behind my desire to see her under the care of the best doctor posthaste.”

There was no air of smug arrogance, condescension, or even a slight teasing in the swift response he delivered. “Indeed. Expect to hear back from me with the appointment details shortly.”

While I waited for his return call, I went to the rooftop of Bart’s and sat, looking out over London. Perhaps I didn’t realize it for some time, but I did kill myself in that fall, not physically, of course, but metaphorically speaking. The man who thought himself a sociopath, wanted no one in the world to touch his heart, kept humanity at a distance, he died. I might have returned in the façade of that man, but in truth, he was gone, his spirit buried in that empty grave and left behind.

Taking another look at the print out of the results, I sent a text to Victoria.

 _We are quite definitively expecting! Will bring home Thai to celebrate._ The vivid image of us together with, not one, but two tiny babies turning us from a couple into a family made me smile, tears in my eyes, and I added to the text with trembling hands. _You are my every infinite possibility. I love you. Xxx_


	19. A Bond Between

Chapter 19 – A Bond Between

 

“Eleven. How did I not know this beforehand?” I asked Victoria whilst hailing a cab early Monday morning.

“Are we back to this again? Sherlock, I told you, you never asked for a genetic history on my family, and if we had discussed starting a family in-depth prior to this,” she said, waving a hand over her lower abdomen,” then perhaps the subject would have come up. Is it a problem?”

“No!” Holding the door open, I ushered her inside and gave the cabbie the address as I slid in beside her. “Absolutely not. I’m thrilled, just a tad overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of it. Had I known your family included eleven sets of twins, perhaps this would have been somewhat less unexpected. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

Laughing, she squeezed my hand. “Or you would have refused to ever have kids with me, living in perpetual fear of having one set of twins after another if we did.”

“I would never—”

“Oh, come on, Sherlock. Eleven sets of twins across both my parents’ families spanning only three generations, seven fraternal, four identical. … Even I admit that’s pretty damned daunting statistically.”

I resigned to losing that argument and nodded in agreement. “You did once mention your mother’s twin sister, so I wasn’t completely ignorant to the family history, though if you had made some mention of your father’s twin sister, perhaps I would have better understood the gravity of the genetic influence at play.”

She made a sour face and held her stomach, worrying me again. “Are you alright?” Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Nauseous again?” She nodded, and I rummaged through her bag in search of the Ritz crackers she’d begun keeping on hand at all times. They’d become the only thing to do the trick. “Here, darling. We’re nearly there. I can see the hospital ahead.”

“I’d rather walk. Being in the cab is making me sicker,” she replied before quickly eating a cracker.

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do. … Driver, pull over. Here’s good.” I gestured to nearest building.

“Here, sir?” It obviously wasn’t the address I’d given.

“Yes.” It was a demand, not a polite reply. “My fiancée is unwell. We need out immediately.”

Quite soon, we were walking hand-in-hand down the pavement, an action that reminded me a good deal of our first date. However, it was daylight rather than dark, and my nerves regarding exploring a new venture in my life found me facing an entire other milestone, one I wouldn’t have predicted to see so soon if someone had asked me what was to come after that night.

But I wouldn’t have changed anything that happened even if I could.

“This looks—”

“Don’t say it, Victoria. Only the best for you and our children. I know it looks expensive, but Dr. Sange is the best obstetrician in London, so I don’t doubt it is.”

Victoria glanced around the room, the décor of lush jewel-toned fabrics and teakwood furniture, settling a stern glare of suspicion upon me for a moment then approached the receptionist. I’d left unmentioned the _how_ regarding my ability to secure an appointment so quickly with such a prestigious physician, and she’d left her likely accurate presumptions unspoken.

“Good morning, ma’am. You must be Mrs. Holmes.” The receptionist was a cheerful, unmarried, blonde (dyed not natural) in her early twenties who owned a black poodle. “Dr. Sange is ready for you, right after you sign these forms.”

Victoria hesitated for a moment, inhaling deeply, and took my hand. “I’m not Mrs. Holmes quite yet, we have a couple weeks until our wedding. It’s still Victoria Taylor, technically Dr. Victoria Taylor, so technically soon-to-be Dr. Holmes.” Oh, she was in a wonderfully feisty mood, possibly not good for me. “And don’t I need to fill out paperwork, complete a medical history, give you my insurance information, all that?”

The woman shook her head, smiling. “Not at all. Everything’s taken care of. The note here said your records are all to be under the name Holmes. We have Sherlock Holmes listed as the father, your husband/significant other, and emergency contact. Is that correct?” We both nodded. “Our office received copies of all medical records and information we need already, and the computer says you’re a private pay client, care of a Mycroft Holmes.” I quickly looked away from Victoria’s shriveling gaze at those words and stared at a painting on the wall. “I just need you to sign here, here, and here, and the nurse will take you to a room right away.”

Relatively soon after, we were in an exam room, and Victoria was changing from her clothes into a gown much like a standard hospital gown, though of better quality in my opinion. She’d opted to forgo the perfunctory meeting of the doctor in his formal office, stating we could just as easily get to know him while ‘getting down to business’ to save everyone time. In short order, the nurse had recorded her height, weight, blood pressure, drew standard blood samples, and collected a urine specimen prior to showing us to the exam room, and I felt Dr. Sange’s office ran in a satisfyingly efficient manner expected of a physician arranged by Mycroft.

“I don’t know what’s on your mind, but you have that same smug look on your face as your brother,” Victoria commented, whilst I had been thinking over my approval of everything to that point, and she was changing into the gown.

“What? I do not,” I quickly protested. Mycroft and I were vastly differently, almost nothing alike at all.

“Psshh… If Lucas had offered to flip the bill for this, forget it. Your ego would have a hundred-page list of reasons that’s a bad idea, but you knew what you wanted to do to provide the best of everything to ensure a healthy pregnancy, and you knew you couldn’t do it alone. For that, you sacrifice your ego in a heartbeat to call Mycroft for help, because he’s your brother, and you know you can trust him to be there when you call.” She climbed up on the table to wait and smiled down at me where I sat in the nearby chair, watching her. “You should stop pretending there isn’t a bond between you two. If all goes well, we’ll be so lucky as to have children with sibling bonds like that to count on.”

Of course, it was a complicated matter to discuss and one we didn’t have time to get into before Dr. Sange knocked on the door and entered. “Dr. and Mr. Holmes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr. Kumar Sange.” He shook both our hands in turn, smiling warmly. “May I call you Victoria and Sherlock? Given the length and personal nature of pregnancy, I prefer to become well acquainted with my patients.”

We agreed, and the doctor gave us a quick introduction of himself. An immigrant from India, married, five children, sole practitioner in the office, selective in taking new patients, attends to all deliveries personally, his particular clients’ births take place at St. Mary’s Hospital private Lindo Wing, all very posh. And he mentioned that he was well aware my brother had him fully vetted before procuring the appointment, also stating we were among those listed as highest priority clients, our privacy of greatest concern.

All that was well and good, but the actual exam made me nervous. Every time he touched her, anything he did, made me worry something would be wrong, though it seemed he barely did anything at all, and it was over.

“Alright. We’re finished here,” he said after doing nothing more than a simple breast exam, which had Victoria wincing due to how tender she’d become, and feeling around her abdomen.

“That’s it?” I asked, unconvinced, and Victoria sighed, giving me a rather pointed glare.

“Her records state Victoria regularly receives routine gynecological and general physical health exams, so there’s nothing more for me to examine this early. However, regular breast exams are an important part of women’s health, and the severity of her tenderness is another sign of the possibility of a multiple pregnancy, along with the blood test results I received from the lab at St. Bart’s.” He made a few notes in the iPad used in place of a paper documentation system. “But we will be doing a trans-vaginal ultrasound, which will allow us to confirm the presence of multiples and let us see how many there are.”

A moment later, there was a knock on the door, and the nurse entered with a machine on wheels, the ultrasound machine. A thrill surged through me at the prospect of seeing such viable proof of my children’s existence for the first time.

“Based on the date of your last period, Victoria your due date is fifth March. According to the gestational calendar, we consider you to be in your fifth week of pregnancy, though the first two weeks a woman isn’t pregnant and all, and the third week is the ovulation week, the week during which conception occurred.” Dr Sange nodded to me. “I just want to be clear you understand the terminology we use and why the dating of weeks I’ll use won’t align with the date of conception _you_ may very well know as fact.”

Victoria laughed. “Always explain the science to Sherlock unless you want a thousand follow-up questions, and even then, I can’t promise he won’t ask five hundred.”

“I promise. I’m really not that bad. I don’t know why everyone thinks so.”

Dr. Sange just smiled and set up the machine, within minutes, we were looking at what appeared to be a static-covered television monitor with two black blobbish things on it. I held Victoria’s hand, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

“They may not look like much this early, but those are your babies. Congratulations, Mummy and Daddy. You’re having fraternal twins,” he announced, but I barely paid him any mind. I was too busy staring at the screen then admiring Victoria’s face, and turning back to stare wide-eyed at the screen again. “Knowing we’re definitely dealing with twins, it’s not realistic to expect that you’ll carry a full forty weeks. Ideally, we hope for at least thirty-seven weeks, so we’ll consider your due date closer to twelfth February, though anything beyond that would certainly be wonderful for the babies. … I’ll just leave that image up on the monitor there and send some pictures to the printer. Let me go get them for you, and I’ll give you two a few minutes alone then be back with those.”

I didn’t even realize I was crying until the view of the screen was blurry, and Victoria was wiping tears from my eyes. “Are you okay? This isn’t too much is it?”

“No. No. No. No. … I mean, yes, I’m okay, but no, this isn’t too much.” Leaning down, I softly kissed her lips and ran my fingers through her loose hair. “Seeing this makes it all very real, not just the fact that you are indeed pregnant but how I feel about that, the fact that I want this. I want this life more than I ever imagined I would. Seeing it, feeling it, wanting it this way, it all makes me more afraid of losing it, of losing you…” I placed one hand over where I knew for a fact our children were nestled safely below. “… afraid of losing them.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sherlock.” She put her hand over mine and smiled. “We’re not going anywhere. The four of us are the new Holmes family. … Now calm down, and get the crackers out of my bag. The mini detectives are making me sick again.”

“Mini detectives?” I questioned as I found the crackers. “What makes you call them that of all things?”

“Look at that monitor, Sherlock. They’re all dark and mysterious, just like you with that hair and that damned coat.” Victoria smirked, and I tried not to laugh at her comparison. “Daddy Detective and his mini detectives.”

“Daddy Detective and my mini detectives? I believe I could somehow manage to find those monikers reasonably acceptable.” Try as I might, I couldn’t hide the smile emerging at the thought of my mini detectives. “Perhaps eventually, I might even grow fond of the idea.”

Dr. Sange knocked and reentered, handing me the printed photos. “You’re looking every bit the proud papa.” I very much liked his bedside manner and felt he would be a good match for us as a doctor during what could be a highly stressful time in which I would certainly have many questions. “Schedule another appointment in two weeks. We should be able to hear the heartbeats by ultrasound then. With twins, I’ll want to see you far more often than I would with a single pregnancy, Victoria, and I prefer that the father attend as many appointments as possible, Sherlock. I believe partnership during pregnancy and co-parenting after birth are key elements to a healthy family, and I counsel couples with this in mind.”

“Absolutely. I can do that. I will do that.” Holding Victoria’s hand tightly, I assisted her in sitting up on the exam table. “Do you have any particular books you recommend? I’ve found a great number available and want to be sure I’m studying the best resources on the subject.”

“In my personal opinion, save yourself the stress, and read one book: _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_. You don’t need books for moms, books for dads, books for pregnancy, and an entire library on the topic. Everything you need to know is in that book. The rest is unnecessary fluff and just overwhelming. In fact, I keep copies for all my first-time parents at the receptionist’s desk, and she’ll give you one when you make your next appointment on your way out.” Yet another point in his favor, prepared with reading material beyond basic brochures of a typical physician’s office. “If you like checklists on what to do later on in the pregnancy to prepare for the twins’ arrival, there are many online resources for those, and you can find what best suits your preferences, or sign up now for one with weekly newsletters.”

We left with an appointment for the afternoon of fifteenth July upon our return from marrying in Denby Dale. Dr. Sange assured us Aaron would be welcome to attend and see the babies on the ultrasound and witness their heartbeats for the first time since he would miss much of the pregnancy and might not be in country for their birth. Book tucked under my arm and busy on my phone, I barely noticed as we exited the building into the typically English overcast day.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Sherlock.”

“Just one moment. I found the top five websites for new parents and need to finish entering the necessary information on this one then I’ll receive weekly newsletter updates via email from each of them. If I create a spreadsheet of all given information and delete duplications—”

“Sherlock!”

Startled by her harshness, I looked up and saw Mycroft, leaning on his umbrella in front of a black car. “I thought you might need a ride home,” he stated, opening the door and gesturing for Victoria to enter, even offering her a hand.

I wanted to knock the boorishly smug expression off his face. Instead, I calmly replied, “Why would you think that?”

“Street surveillance cameras showed the two of you exiting the cab this morning a fair distance prior to your destination. One could surmise, given Victoria’s appearance at the time, she felt ill, and perhaps would be more comfortable in something with a bit more privacy and luxury than a cab on the return trip.” Mycroft gave a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘big brother is always watching’. “And besides, given I’m paying for Dr. Sange’s services, it seems asking how the appointment went is not unfair of me, don’t you think?” He cocked his head, smirk firmly at the corner of his mouth.

“Fair enough, brother mine.” I pocketed my phone and gave him a genuine smile for once. “Or should I say ‘uncle of mine children’ now?”

He hummed thoughtfully as he climbed into the car behind us. “I shan’t object should you wish to do so.”

And I had an idea that behind Victoria’s grin were thoughts of sibling bonds and brotherly love with a dash of ‘I told you so’ that she’d never say aloud.


	20. Prepared for Zombies

Chapter 20 – Prepared for Zombies

 

“Just coffee for me, thank you,” I ordered, receiving a stern look from John.

“You can’t live off coffee and tea alone now, Sherlock. Victoria needs you healthy and properly capable of taking care of her and the mini detectives.” He grinned at the nickname for the twins, which had stuck within a matter of a few days.

“Do you honestly think I don’t know that? I already ate, but I can’t have coffee unless I’m out. The smell alone started making her wretchedly ill. It can’t be anywhere near the flat, but I still need caffeine to function.” Opening the bag beside me, I pulled out one of the motion sickness bracelets. “Hopefully these will work as well as Dr. Sange claims they do. When I called last night, he said many of his patients have excellent results with them.”

John inspected it, turning it around in his hands skeptically. “What is it?”

“A motion sickness bracelet, John,” I huffed and took it back. “What kind of doctor are you? They’re a common homeopathic remedy also used for morning sickness. Those suffering from such problems place one on each wrist so the beads press against specific pressure points, alleviating the troublesome symptoms.”

The waitress returned with our coffees, and I quickly poured in sugar before drinking it nearly without taking a breath.

“Have you been getting any sleep? You look like hell.”

“Let’s see… My fiancée and I are expecting twins. She’s up half the night sick, and the other half she’s tossing and turning because she’s either too hot or too cold. All day while she’s at work, I’m either worrying about her and/or the twins, reading everything possible about pregnancy and parenting, or am taking cases to distract me from worrying, which doesn’t actually help by the way.” Leaning back in the café’s chair, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “No, I can’t say that I’ve been getting any sleep. How about you? Having any adjustment difficulties to expectant fatherhood? You appear well.”

“For starters, we aren’t expecting twins, so Mary’s not suffering the extremes of everything Victoria is. But every pregnancy’s different, and Mary hasn’t been sick much at all. Could be, the next time she’ll be miserable from the beginning and will curse me to the depths of hell every day of it.” He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s completely unpredictable. I could go home and find she’s started suffering morning sickness, and that’s the end of what I thought might be the easiest pregnancy ever.”

“True.” John’s breakfast arrived, and the waitress obliged me with another cup of much-needed coffee. “Aaron rearranged his flight schedule _again_. He departed Boston last night, has a layover in Amsterdam, and arrives at Heathrow this afternoon, so Victoria gave me what she called a ‘honey do’ list of everything I’m to accomplish while she’s finishing with the last group of test subjects. Cleaning, laundry, food shopping, all so very domestic … Somehow, I hadn’t thought if I settled into the domestic life, I’d be the one taking care of quite this much of the household chores.”

“Well, Sherlock, to be fair, her career comes with relatively standard hours, a stable income, and benefits, and yours has none of that. When you do take cases, clients are willing to pay rather obscene sums of money for your services, but you also have days, even weeks when no case strikes your fancy, and you mope around the flat, claiming you’re bored and have nothing to do. You were a shit flatmate for lifting a finger to help with anything, but I’d hope you’re a far better husband and father given that being the world’s only consulting detective surely offers you more flexibility in your time than the average man.”

John had patients on his schedule and couldn’t stay long, eating quickly, not chatting much more, and tossing a few notes on the table to cover his part before rushing off. But I sat a while longer, mulling over what he’d said.

To be certain, he wasn’t wrong regarding how different our careers were, though when I was on a case, between the two of us, Victoria and I left not a surface uncovered; papers, books, notes, and such scattered everywhere while we worked at home, silently and focused, together yet each in our own worlds. Victoria didn’t mind my absolute distraction, using the opportunity to accomplish far more work at home than she could manage if I weren’t occupied.

However, what was the point of creating such a job for myself and becoming the world’s only consulting detective if I couldn’t make everything about it just as I wished? So I sat in that café and decided the benefits of my job included the flexibility, time, and resources to become the world’s greatest husband and father. I was Sherlock Holmes. Anything worth my time was worth me being the best.

Then I went home and checked off my ‘honey do’ list with a far more positive outlook.

Satisfied there were no human body parts or other remnants of experiments left in the kitchen and I’d taken all the rubbish out to ensure Loki wouldn’t get into anything, I collapsed in my chair at half past eleven and texted Victoria. _Are you on your way home? xxx_

I had enough time to shower, change, and be ready to head to the airport when she arrived, if she left her office on time, which she often didn’t.

_No. 2 more hrs so I can take the 2 wks off. 3 hrs tops. Mind getting A? Please._ _J_

Aaron’s flight schedule had him arriving at 1:50, and Victoria’s ‘3 hours tops’ likely meant she’d meet us at the restaurant for our dinner plans with Lucas.

_I love you… xoxoxo_

_Mini detectives are being good today. Not feeling too sick!_

Damn her Samsung Galaxy phone and its Swype keyboard. She could text insanely fast. It almost made me consider trading in my iPhone… Almost.

_Good to hear you’re feeling well. Take care of work. I’ll get Aaron sorted. I love you and my mini detectives. xxx_

Aaron wouldn’t receive any texts until he landed, but I sent him an update on the situation regardless. _Welcoming party of 1 meeting you at Heathrow. Victoria needs to tie up a few more things. Apologies. –SH_

I could handle Aaron. Yes, I knew him to be a bit _odd_ , but it would be fine. Of that, I felt confident. Donovan considered me a freak. Aaron and I would be fine. Just fine.

Despite how busy Heathrow was or the fact we’d never actually met in person, I didn’t see the need to hold a silly sign notifying Aaron to my presence as the one waiting for him. We’d seen one another via Skype a few times when Victoria had invited me to take part in their electronic time together.

And I did recognize him. I recognized him the moment I spotted him in the crowd, well before he’d come near enough to notice if I waved at him. Aaron wasn’t as thin a man as me and was older than Victoria and I — turning thirty-nine in two months — but he wore it well with a neatly-trimmed ginger beard and hair grown with just the length to show his natural curls, carefully styled to look as though it were rather messy, but his appearance was anything other than unkempt. He wore a black business suit and white button down shirt, no tie, yet he had a casual way about him much like Victoria.

His particular casual style was where his oddities became strikingly apparent. Aaron was unmistakably _Aaron_ , not your typical businessman because of the neon green Converse he wore with his impeccably tailored suit, coordinating with his neon green backpack, which no doubt held his high-end laptop, rather than something staid and appropriate for a man with a successful cyber security company like AVT TechLock and advanced technical degrees from CalTech and MIT. He topped it all off with headphones, again neon green, clearly blasting music just like Victoria often did, as he was literally dancing his way through the airport, singing along at parts, oblivious to anyone gawking at him.

Due to his business savvy, Aaron was wealthy, not Lucas Fielding wealthy, but he traveled first class and wanted for nothing. However, what I found immediately likable about the rather eccentric Aaron Taylor was that he owned a not-so-quiet self-confidence.

“Sherlock!” He’d obviously spotted me through the crowd and yelled, headphones still on, loud enough to catch my attention as well as that of everyone in the entirety of the airport.

I simply smiled and waved, waiting for him to make his way over, finally moving the headphones to hang around his neck. “Man, it’s great to meet you in person.” He threw an arm around me in a tight half-hug, and I stood there in a moment of shock before patting his back, attempting some form of appropriate reciprocation. “God, Victoria wasn’t kidding. Your mom feed you Miracle-Gro as a kid? I feel like I should stand up straighter or something, fake that extra inch and hit six foot. But whatever, everybody’s tall to my runt sister.”

For some reason, I felt a momentary twinge of anger regarding his casual use of the term ‘sister’ when referring to Victoria. They were raised as siblings, not cousins, and had always referred to one another as brother and sister, and I couldn’t place why I suddenly felt protective of the right to claim someone as a sibling, minding the technicalities or even the sentimentality of its meaning. It was an errant emotion to file away and examine at another time.

“I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. Our seven inch height difference has never seemed particularly excessive in my personal opinion, but she has remarked on it numerous times.” A thought crossed my mind, and I added, “Perhaps I don’t find it notable because she’s only an inch shorter than John.”

“Hey then, true dat, Shezza.” He clapped me on the shoulder and headed to baggage claim, leaving me to follow.

“Shezza?” I questioned, quickly catching up to him.

Aaron laughed in his easy way, head swaying to the beat of whatever song remained stuck there. “What, bro? Nobody’s ever given you a nickname before? Everybody seriously calls you Sherlock?”

“Yes, actually, they do.”

He seemed surprised and possibly a bit appalled by that. “Yeah, that doesn’t work for me. You’re marrying my sister, and I don’t have much in the way of family, just her and our parents. To everybody else, I was the family addict’s kid, right up until I made a lot of money and wasn’t an embarrassment anymore. By then, too late, fuck them.” Aaron shrugged, nonchalant about the whole matter. “So you see, _Shezza_ , you’re marrying into my _very_ small family, my limited trust circle. For that, I give you a nickname and a warning. If you ever hurt Victoria, you better hope like hell your brother really is the British government, because then he might, just _might_ , have enough connections to help you hide from Lucas and me coming after you.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Shezza has a nice ring to it. Maybe I could use it undercover on a case or … hm, something.”

“Awesomesauce.” He didn’t stop walking until he’d reached baggage claim, always walking with a purposeful stride, multi-tasking on his smartphone and occasionally glancing up at a sign, though he clearly knew his way around Heathrow without any difficulty. “Lucky says dinner plans are up to Little Red. She still craving Italian, or we back to Thai? No, lemme guess, it’s something else now.”

“No detective in the world could deduce the answer to that, not even me. While taking tea this morning, she asked if I knew anywhere we could get lasagna and spring rolls for dinner.” Honestly, I didn’t whether to laugh or cry in despair at her cravings sometimes.

“Well, color yourself lucky, Shezza.” Aaron lugged a huge, bright green, rolling suitcase off the conveyor, followed shortly by a matching garment bag. “You’ve got big bro here for ten whole days. I got your six, man. We’ll double team this insanity, keep Little Red and the mini detectives all chill.”

My sight remained zeroed in on his black luggage tags and their bright green lettering. “I suppose if you’re prepared for zombies, Victoria’s pregnancy symptoms should be a piece of cake for you.”

Aaron glanced at one of the tags, casually flicking it with a finger. “Pretty epic, right? ‘Zombie Outbreak Response Team’ … Ha! Saw these on Amazon and had to have ‘em. … But seriously, we’re talking about my baby sister. It doesn’t matter what it’s for; the zombie virus, the plague, pregnant with twins, or a freaking hangnail, if she needs me, one phone call, and I’m on the first flight out of Boston. Don’t forget that, because I know you’ve got my number, and that rule applies to _you_ needing me _because_ of her.”

“Thank you, Aaron.” I felt quite fond of him already, eccentricities and all. “It truly is good to finally meet you in person.

He grinned that wicked smirk of a grin I knew well from Victoria. “So, Shezza, how are you at karaoke? We like to hit this one place over in Soho…”


	21. Along the Way

Chapter 21 – Along the Way

 

The week with Aaron had been interesting to say the least, but he’d kept good to his word on doing everything possible to help Victoria, and that Thursday found me suffering intense anxiety for entirely new reasons than worrying over her well-being.

I’d only met Victoria’s parents via Skype once. She wasn’t as close to them as to Aaron and didn’t keep in contact with anything near the same frequency. However, they were still her parents, and she was their only daughter, only child in truth. They would not miss her wedding, no matter how small an event we had chosen to make it.

And we had opted to make it quite small. After lecturing me on how technically, a wedding held in our parents’ garden wouldn’t be legally binding by English law, Mycroft later called to inform me he’d ‘taken care of the minor legality’ and that our parents’ property held a place on the list of licensed venues as a ‘stately home’ in part due to some historical significance of the land but mostly because my brother is the British government, ever providing evidence against his own claims to the falsehood of that statement. So it stood that the ceremony would be held under the oak tree with a mere fourteen guests in attendance, Victoria and me.

My anxiety that Thursday derived itself solely from the situation I found myself during the caravanning of twelve of us from London to Denby Dale after Dr. and Mrs. Taylor arrived that morning. It seemed like such a good idea, Lucas generously providing three spacious Land Rovers for everyone… until the decision was made how the twelve of us would divide among said Land Rovers.

Victoria wanted to spend the time with her mother and Mary talking matters of the wedding and babies, and Mrs. Hudson quickly volunteered to be the fourth person in their car. Greg knew Molly and Sally (who Victoria insisted be invited) well enough to want to spend the long ride with them then asked John to join them as well.

And that’s when I realized I would be alone in a car for nearly three hours with Victoria’s father, Victoria’s older brother, and Victoria’s male best friend of twelve years. Victoria, the woman I would marry come Sunday, the woman carrying my children. Victoria, their daughter, sister, and best friend whom I’d impregnated and proposed to within a month of meeting. When explained in that way, nothing about the drive sounded as if it had a good outcome for me.

The venture began in silence, Lucas driving, Dr. Taylor in the passenger seat, Aaron behind him, and me trying to be invisible if at all possible, avoiding awkward conversation. However, it didn’t take long before I ran out of luck.

“So, Andrew, how did you enjoy your first year of retirement?” Lucas asked Dr. Taylor, making me painfully aware how deeply rooted his personal relationship with Victoria went.

Aaron tapped me on the arm and nodded to the front. “Dad made the big leap from philosophy prof to rose gardener last year with a side job of being all up in Mom’s business.”

“Boys, I’d imagine Sherlock isn’t terribly interested in my newfound hobbies, but I’m quite keen on hearing more about the young man about to marry my little girl.” He looked back at me with a pleasant smile and eyes warning of thin ice. “What exactly is it that you do? Lucas tells me the past few years you’ve been entangled in one of the biggest scandals in England, were reportedly involved in life threatening dealings while working with New Scotland Yard, faked your death, and completely disappeared for two years, only recently popping back up as if nothing happened, picking right up where you left off. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, should I be concerned regarding the future you have in store for my daughter and grandchildren?”

I felt Lucas’s piercing eyes on me through the rearview mirror and Aaron’s demeanor seemed decidedly less friendly. Although the three of us had been getting on quite well, clearly, they were waiting for Victoria’s father to swoop in with the difficult questions and the hard facts we all knew.

“Everything Lucas told you of me is quite true. My reputation was utterly destroyed in scandalous claims of absolute rubbish; however, it has since been set to rights, such false reports and defamations of my character and reputation publicly rescinded, all good faith and professional respects restored.” At least I told myself the matter was behind me, and certainly the public image portrayed since my returned appeared positive to date. “I cannot deny the positions of danger in which I have put myself while investigating cases, but I can say that in the past, I held no responsibilities to anyone other than myself and; therefore, deemed the impact of my death as one of minor consequence. Indeed, I did fake my own death, went away to places unknown to anyone who considered me a friend, and recently returned with the expectation those same friends would accept me back without question.”

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I steeled my resolve to continue making my case. “Yet I did not ‘pick right up where I left off’ by any means, for if that were true, we would not be having this conversation, and I would be either sitting alone in my flat or out solving a case without the slightest interest in sentiment, romance, love, marriage, or children. Yes, the man I was prior to meeting Victoria was unemotional, distant, selfish, and often immature and irresponsible, but while I was away those two years, I had a great deal of time alone, time to reflect, time to determine if the sum of the man I was measured up to the man I wanted to be, and I knew I fell short.”

“The moment I met her, she changed the course of my life, though I didn’t quite see and wouldn’t admit it for a few days. Nothing I’ve done in my past gives me a sense that I’ve earned a love like Victoria’s, but every day, I try to be the man I want to be, the man who does deserve it. So to answer your question, Dr. Taylor, no, you should not be concerned. While no man can place a guarantee on what the future may hold, I do promise that Victoria and our children are, and always will be, first in my life, taking priority above all else.”

Dr. Taylor turned back to me, a much wider smile on his face and less serious eyes. “That’s more or less what Victoria said about you, but I wanted to see if you had the brass balls to say it to me yourself. … Welcome to the family, son. Just call me Andrew, no need to be so formal.”

Bloody hell. I leaned back against the seat, taking calming breaths, feeling my heart still thudding in my chest while Lucas and Aaron fell into a fit of laughter.

Thankfully, any further inquisition during the remainder of the drive fell interspersed between conversations of current events, sports, hobbies, and work, but it _did_ come.

“Not that I mind becoming an uncle, _Shezza_ , but you sure knocked up my sister awfully fast. Gotta admit, seems a little sketchy.” I swore I heard Lucas snort out a laugh when Aaron said that.

“Hm. Well, it may seem that way, but I’m thirty-six years old, not getting any younger, and have wasted my entire adult life committed to the belief that sentiment was for fools, so I do beg your pardon if I dismiss acceptable social protocols that, in my opinion, simply waste time.” With a huff, I straightened my shirt collar, terribly annoyed by the particular subject in question. “Being likeminded individuals, Victoria and I found we were in agreement on the defining parameters of our relationship and took decisive action to progress with expedient forward momentum toward our relationship goals. To be honest, Victoria and I are two mature, consenting adults, and I don’t see how anyone has the right to judge how we conduct our relationship in any aspect, so long as there is no negative impact upon either of us.”

“She’s pregnant with twins and more than a little moody, I’d say that aspect might have some negative impact coming your way, Sherlock,” Andrew commented as he watched the scenery outside his window.

I had no argument for that point, and Lucas turned the topic to football for a while. … Until the subject inevitably returned to me. Any superpower allowing me to escape would have been a blessing. Never had I wished superpowers were real so much as I did in that moment.

“You know, Sherlock, I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned where you went to uni.”

Bollocks. Why did Lucas have to bring that up? I’d managed to be ‘busy’ every time he and Victoria talked about their days at Cambridge, her studies to earn a PhD in psychology and his for an Executive Masters in business administration. And I definitely did not want to discuss the topic while trapped in a car with her double Masters degreed brother and her Dartmouth/Cornell, Ivy League, doctorate elitist father.

But they were all waiting for a response.

“Cambridge.”

Aaron laughed and teasingly punched me in the arm. “I knew it. I took you for an Oxbridge guy.” I stiffened. “It’s the suits. Every pic Little Red sends me, you’re always in a suit. Totally Oxbridge. But with all the deductions and stuff, I was leaning toward Cambridge, better science program.”

“Indeed. Mycroft opted to go the route of politics and economics at Oxford, but I preferred NatSci at Cambridge.”

“A fellow Tab? That’s fantastic! I can’t believe you didn’t tell us before.” I was quite sure if we hadn’t been in a car at the time, Lucas would have hugged me. “Really, that’s fantastic, mate. So, not Dr. Holmes then I’m guessing you were getting your Masters about the same time I was, maybe a year ahead of me. Hell, we might’ve even run into each other on campus and not realized it.”

“No, I highly doubt that.” I could have left it alone at that, left them to their assumptions, but I didn’t want something said to Victoria, something false. I didn’t want lies between us. “I didn’t stay that long. Uni and I didn’t get on too well.”

An all-consuming silence filled the car, suffocating me in its presence until Andrew finally spoke. “College isn’t for everyone. My wife hated it. Evelyn’s too free-spirited, and after two years, she’d had enough. She ended up learning aromatherapy, massage, and herbal medicine from a guy who’d spent his twenties backpacking through Europe then lived in a Tibetan monastery for twenty years. Somehow, she made a career of it. Her little shop in town’s cute. Does pretty decent business too.” He turned in his seat to face me, and the sun’s angle softened his appearance, the light making his white hair almost glow and glinting off his wire-rimmed glasses. “We each forge our own path, Sherlock. The important thing is that you like who you are as you reach each destination along the way. Unless you’d honestly like yourself better with an alphabet soup of credentials behind your name then you made the right choice, and that’s all that matters.”

And I came to realize he was quite right. I’d only begun to doubt myself because it seemed most everyone in Victoria’s life aside from me had an impressive education; however, she’d never requested my CV in order to qualify for a position in her life, and I had no doubt mine was an extraordinarily profound and unique intelligence unlikely to be found among the majority of highly educated people. The only credentials or titles I needed in order to feel professionally successful and personally satisfied were: World’s Only Consulting Detective, husband, and father. … Well, those and _friend_.


	22. The Greatest Mystery

Chapter 22 – The Greatest Mystery

 

“Getting cold feet, are we?”

“No, most definitely not, brother mine,” I replied, twisting the boutonniere gently between my fingers, not wanting to damage it but unable to stop from fidgeting with _something_. “There are simply too many people in the house, and no one will let me near Victoria before the ceremony. I just want to see her, speak to her, to be sure she hasn’t changed her mind.” Turning to Mycroft, I found he wore an unusual expression of concern. “What if I stand there waiting and she doesn’t come? What do I do if she leaves me?”

I looked away, wiping a tear from my eye, quite uncomfortable showing such emotion in front of him, as it had previously been something we’d mutually detested.

“Oh, dear brother, you truly do love her. This isn’t some pretense of conformity, mimicking John…” As confused as I was, Mycroft appeared utterly shocked. “All this time, I’ve played along and done my best to protect you for so long as I saw this latest endeavor held your interest, expecting eventually I’d have to clean up the mess when you tired of it; monotony and placid normalcy would grow tiresome, and I would ensure Victoria and the children were comfortable, cared for, and well away from you.”

“But I don’t understand. Why on Earth would you think I’d want that?”

“Because sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, Sherlock. We’ve always said so,” he stated flatly.

“No, you said so, and I looked up to you as my older brother and believed it. Thankfully, for both our sakes, there came a time when my belief in your words wavered, and I let sentiment slip in, because without it, I would be dead. James Moriarty would have beaten me at the great game he set in motion, I would have died, and there would have been nothing you could have done to bring me back.”

We stared at one another for quite some time without a word. He still looked at me like I was a child in need of his care, his protection. He’d always done so.

“Then you’re right. You’re right, and I’m wrong. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Brow raised, he cocked his head arrogantly, and I grinned. “If so, I hope you heard it the first time. I most certainly will not repeat it.”

Smirking, I nodded. “That will suffice, but I would like to hear you say how much you’re looking forward to being an uncle.”

Mycroft tutted and shook his head. “Oh, Sherlock, you should have asked for something difficult. I’ll readily admit to that. If there’s any reason I’m pleased to learn this isn’t a farce, that you’re actually in love and happily marrying and procreating, it’s because I won’t have to send away the children out of your sheer boredom, forcing me to spoil them in secret from afar, never being known as their uncle.”

I should have known. Between Mycroft, Aaron, and Lucas, my children would inevitably be spoiled beyond my worst nightmares.

Handing him the boutonniere, it only took a moment before he understood my silent request and began affixing it to my lapel. “Then you aren’t disappointed in me?” The question was out before I could stop it, though his answer wouldn’t change the outcome. I supposed a part of me still wanted my big brother’s approval, even if I could and would live without it.

“No, brother mine, not at all.” He finished pinning the boutonniere and straightened my collar and tie then brushed lint off my jacket. “In this particular endeavor, you have more courage than I, and I never find myself disappointed in your courage, little brother. Never.”

And then it was time.

At two o’clock on that unusually cloudless Sunday, my brother stood in front of the oak tree where we’d played as children, prepared to officiate my wedding ceremony. Just as I bore witness to John’s wedding as his best man, he was at my side to do the same for me, not two months later. Opposite me, Aaron stood as Victoria’s ‘Man of Honor’ since we threw tradition to the wind and cared only about who we wanted with us for the momentous occasion of our wedding vows.

We’d completely forgone any measure of formality for our guests during the ceremony, no chairs arranged in the garden for anyone. Instead, those we wished to join us lined along either side of the aisle Victoria would walk down then would close in around us, in a more inclusive and intimate fashion, symbolic of their importance in our lives. All Victoria’s idea, of course, but I quite liked that our wedding would be unique.

At the sound of the back door opening and falling closed, Lucas started the music via the small sound system Aaron had set up with his laptop and two rented speakers. We’d had far more difficulty agreeing upon a song for the ceremony than anything else. Flowers were a given— lavender roses and violet tulips, same as I’d given her on our first date. However, music was not so simple, and after disagreeing on thirty-seven songs, we’d almost decided simply not to have any when Aaron suggested “Nowhere to Now Here” by The Kin. We both fell in love with the lyrics the first time we heard it, she enjoyed its contemporary nature, and I felt satisfied with the symphonic tones within it.

That song was the final element of the ceremony needed to have everything prepared, and the time had finally come that it played. At any moment, Victoria would come into view on her father’s arm, walking toward me for the last time as my girlfriend or fiancée. Every time she would come to me in the future, she would do so as my wife.

My wife.

I was getting married. I would be a husband. Victoria’s husband.

Then I saw her. And never have my eyes bore witness to more lovely a sight. She appeared as a radiant beauty, ginger hair shining in the sun and falling in gentle waves over her bare shoulders, white dress of modest embellishment along the sweetheart neckline and fitting her body to just above her waist, flowing so softly to her feet that it fluttered in the light breeze.

She appeared almost ethereal, mythical, and until she reached me, Andrew placing Victoria’s hand in mine, I could have easily believed I’d dreamt every bit of it.

“Well, hi there, handsome. Fancy meeting you here,” Victoria whispered, loudly enough to cause most of our family and friends to snicker.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else right now,” I replied, garnering a few ‘awwws’ from most female guests and a small snort of laughter from Sally.

Mycroft cleared his throat and began. “This place in which we are now gathered is sanctioned according to English law for the celebration of matrimony. We have come together today to witness one such union of particular importance to those of us here, the marriage of William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Victoria Rose Taylor, sharing in the blessing of their joy and celebrating in their love. If any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage, they should declare it now… No? I thought not. I would already be aware.”

With a tight smile, he nodded to each of us. “Now as neither of them care for a great deal of pomp and circumstance, we shall get to the point. Are you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, free lawfully to marry Victoria Rose Taylor?”

“I am.” I was also grinning like an idiot, my heart racing, thrilled to say the words and anxious to hear them from her.

“And are you, Victoria Rose Taylor, free lawfully to marry William Sherlock Scott Holmes?”

“I am.”

“Very well,” Mycroft sighed. “On we go. Do we have the rings?” John and Aaron each retrieved the rings from their pockets, John handing Victoria’s to me, whilst Aaron held onto mine for a few more minutes and took Victoria’s bouquet. “Sherlock and Victoria wrote their own vows, so do begin, brother.”

Holding the delicate ring between the fingers of my left hand, I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and kept my eyes on Victoria’s as I spoke. “For a very long time, many people have accused me of not having a heart, not caring, not having feelings, but those days are past, and I am no longer that same man because I finally solved the greatest mystery of my life. I found my heart, my center, my home. I found it in you; on this day and forever, I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take you, Victoria Rose Taylor, to be my best friend, my lover, my confidante, my partner, my one constant in this ever-changing world.”

I held her right hand a bit tighter as I began slipping the simple white gold band onto her left ring finger, all attempts to withhold tears quite failed. “In short, I take you to be my wedded wife and present you with this ring as a symbol of my love, respect, and faithfulness, as endless as this circle.”

I took a moment to run my thumb over the ring she finally wore, admiring it before allowing her take mine from Aaron, a band identical to hers in every way but size, each engraved with a small infinity symbol inside. It was my turn to rest my left hand over our clasped right hands, waiting to hear her speak the vows that would bind us in marriage for a lifetime.

“At John and Mary’s wedding, she asked me to go after you when you left, and though I don’t remember every word of what she said, I remember she told me, “He shouldn’t be alone. He deserves more.” I fell in very deep like with you that night, but on our first date, when you showed up with lavender roses and violet tulips, talking about feeling enchanted and offering faithfulness, I _knew_ you were far more than what I’d heard of you. Sherlock, you are undoubtedly an eccentric and complicated man, but you are passionate, loyal, and loving. I love you for many reasons, but I first fell in love with you because of your honesty. You are the most raw, uncut, unedited, blunt person I’ve ever met. You often either don’t know or don’t care what’s appropriate or socially acceptable. Therefore, you mean what you say, and I can trust you. For without trust, there cannot be love, and I have more love for you than the universe has stars.”

We were both in tears as she placed the ring on my finger, and I heard sniffling from our guests as well. “I, Victoria Rose Taylor, take you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, to be my best friends, my lover, my confidante, my partner, my one constant in this ever-changing world. I take you as my wedded husband and present you with this ring as a symbol of my love, respect, and faithfulness, as endless as this circle.”

Grasping each other’s left hands over our already clasped right hands, we looked one another in the eyes and spoke in unison. “Now and forevermore, my every infinite possibility is within you.”

“Having made the declaration prescribed by law and made a solemn and binding contract with each other in the presence of your witnesses, friends, and family, I am pleased to pronounce you husband and wife. If you wish, brother, you may kiss your bride.”

And I wished to very much, so I did. I kissed Victoria for the first time as my wife, a loving and silent reiteration of every word we’d spoken, sealing vows I would _never_ break.

Finally, Victoria and I turned to our guests, and she took my arm as Mycroft said the words that marked a milestone it had taken me entirely too long to realize I even wanted to reach in my life, yet I’d made it. “Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you, Mr. and Dr. Sherlock Holmes.”


	23. Melody of Sentiment

Chapter 23 – Melody of Sentiment

 

The afternoon and early evening of the wedding flew by in a blur of photos, dancing, and light drinking around my parents’ house and garden, a casual affair. A local restaurant had been booked for the rest of the evening for a more formal dinner reception, cake, and speeches.

John had insisted Aaron go first, and admittedly, I barely heard a thing Aaron said. All I could think about was what John would say. My best man speech hadn’t exactly been flawless. I’d said some right horrible things, and though John considered me his best friend, I’d honestly spent more time being a right horrible person to him than I had been anyone worthy of such a friend.

And as John stood, champagne flute in hand, I took a deep breath, twisting my wedding band around my finger until Victoria took my hand. “No need to be anxious. He’ll give a wonderful speech for you, just like you did for him,” she whispered in my ear.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Round about two months ago, tables were turned, and as some of you may vividly recall, it was Sherlock standing beside me as he gave his best man speech at my wedding. I don’t have a perfect memory, but I’m pretty sure it started along the lines of Sherlock stating how, in his opinion, weddings are nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in our ailing and morally compromised world. … I think I got that damn close, if not perfect.”

John was far too close to perfect in his recall. I felt the sudden urge to crawl under the table, and only Victoria’s tight grip on my hand prevented me from giving it more serious consideration.

“You see, Sherlock Holmes is my best friend and a very complicated man. He’s baffled me and amazed me and frustrated me from the very first time we met. Yet since that time, I’ve come to believe in him.” Smiling down at me, the warmth in John’s eyes promised everything he would say would be alright. And I believed in him too.

“I believe he would do anything for the people he cares about. I believe you can’t put limits on your expectations of him, because he’ll always surprise you. And I believe he lied every time he claimed to be some sort of sociopath or said he thought caring was a mistake or sentiment was a defect; he lied because it was easier and safer than risking getting hurt like a normal human being. You see, Sherlock isn’t a normal human being. He’s absolutely brilliant. He has an extraordinary mind.” John rested a hand on my shoulder, and added, “He’s also far more loyal than he gives himself credit for.”

“But what’s brought us here tonight is the fact that within this complicated man is the heart of a lion, a heart which he kept locked in a cage and hidden deep down in the furthest reaches of himself. However, with much persistence, myself and a very few others managed to find it, slowly pick the lock, and somehow coax it out of its cage. We didn’t really know what we’d done. We had no idea what we’d actually set loose.” He laughed, as did Greg, Sally, and few others, though Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Mummy were already in tears.

“If you had told me the day I met Sherlock Holmes that befriending the cold bastard would mean eventually standing at his side as the most fiercely loving and devoted man I know married the love of his life, I wouldn’t have believed a word of it. Yet I’m standing here today, having done just that. So now I offer up a toast to Sherlock and Victoria. I add your love to the list of what I believe in, may it flourish, and may your life together be prosperous.” John raised his glass to the room before we all said ‘cheers’ and drank, Victoria’s glass filled with sparkling water despite Mrs. Hudson’s insistence that a little indulgence wouldn’t hurt so early in the pregnancy. I wouldn’t hear of it.

Standing to thank him for the fantastic job he’d done, I felt at a loss for words, more emotional than I expected, so I simply pulled him in for a hug, knowing John of all people wouldn’t object.

“If you’re looking for baby names… Hamish, after that fantastic bloke who gave the brilliant speech at your wedding.”

I laughed. “John Hamish Watson is certainly a fantastic bloke, and that was one brilliant speech.” The rest of the room had grown loud with celebration and conversation, leaving us a moment to talk. “Thank you, John, truly. Thank you for everything.”

“It’s nothing.”

“But it isn’t nothing. _I_ wouldn’t believe in me if it weren’t for you, not like this. A wife, children, I wouldn’t believe in _this_ for me if it weren’t for you, and that’s certainly something to thank you for, John.”

John shrugged, a small smile at the corner of his mouth as he shook his head. “All I’ve ever done is be your friend and do what friends do for each other.”

“I know.”

And to him that really was nothing, the idea of becoming friends with someone and that friendship growing to one in which you consider that person your _best_ friend. Perhaps he would never fully understand I meant it when I told him I didn’t have friends. I had people who held the various positions of importance in my life but no one I considered a friend, and no one I thought would consider me a friend.

Not until John came along and began to change the way I saw everything.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” I clapped John on the shoulder lightly, and we took our seats again. “I’m just feeling quite fortunate … perhaps a tad reminiscent.”

“It’s your wedding day, Sherlock. If you weren’t feeling a bit emotional, I’d be worried.”

I spotted Lucas coming over to me, and nodded. “Speaking of emotional, it appears to be time for a special gift I have planned for my wife.”

Victoria turned from her conversation with Aaron and narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously. “Did I just hear you mention me, and should I be worried?”

“Yes and not at all,” I replied, kissing her softly before rising to meet Lucas as he approached with my violin case. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anything for a friend, Sherlock.”

Unlike my other friends, who became such over time without me quite realizing it, I could name the date when and location where my view of Lucas Fielding turned from mildly adversarial to outright friendship. June 22nd at Le Gavaroche, when my own brother and best friend judged me and didn’t yet understand my happiness, Lucas did. Lucas didn’t see me as a threat to his relationship with Victoria, didn’t behave with petty jealousy. He welcomed me into her life and, by association, his as well.

And I returned the sentiment in kind.

With a smile and a nod, I dismissed him back to his seat, and as I opened the case to retrieve my violin and bow, all attention in the room turned to me, most of all, Victoria’s. “That piece you’ve been composing…”

“Mhmm.” I tucked the case under the table, out of the way then stood before our family and friends. “As Victoria has already surmised, I’ve been composing a piece for today. I suppose I could say it’s been writing itself in my head since the day I first met her, which is why I decided to title it “Il Capitolo Di Apertura.” For those of you who don’t know Italian, it means “the opening chapter.” I felt that was quite appropriate given that this is my way of telling the story of us, Victoria and I, a story we’ve only just begun writing.”

And without further ado, I played the melody of sentiment wrought upon my life from the moment I laid eyes on the woman who was now my wife. From the initial piqued interest to the heart-racing attraction I didn’t recognize for what it was to the sweetest taste of our first kiss to the melancholic pain felt when I feared she was in the arms of another man, each note carried emotions and moments, memories.

Never had I better understood how music could affect one so dramatically, move a person to tears or fill their heart with joy than when I closed my eyes and filled that room with the sounds of the tale I’d carefully written over the past few weeks and knew by heart. I knew the beautiful melody of the first time we made love, the sound of holding my breath while awaiting her answer when I proposed, each note of inexplicable joy felt to look at the small screen in Dr. Sange’s office and see confirmation of the lives we’d created.

The end was soft yet lively, an ode to the romance of our wedding day, with the final note held until its sound faded away, a musical ellipses, waiting for the story to continue.


End file.
